Into the Fold
by Pasi
Summary: Severus Snape is going straight to hell. The people he calls his friends are helping him get there.
1. Chapter 1

SEPTEMBER, 1979

Everything in Lucius Malfoy's library--the scent of old books and rubbed leather, the candles shedding pools of golden light on the Persian rug, the French windows open to the sound of summer rain--spoke of established and expected comforts. But Lucius Malfoy, pacing between the bureau and the sideboard, casting glances at the library door, looked anything but comfortable.

After the fifth or sixth glance, as if it had finally decided to reward Lucius's anxious regard, the door opened. Dobby, the Malfoys' house-elf, tiptoed inside.

Lucius stopped in his tracks. "Yes?"

"L--Lucius Malfoy has a--a caller, sir."

"Who is it?"

"A--a gentle--a gentlem--a--a _person._" Dobby's voice trembled. His body trembled. The tattered hem of his tea-towel trembled.

"Does this _person_ have a name?"

Dobby shook harder than ever. "N--no, Lucius Malfoy, sir. Er, that is, yes, but Lucius Malfoy mustn't ask, for Dobby can't say, no one must say_--_I could tell this person Lucius Malfoy is not at home?" Dobby concluded hopefully.

"He knows I am expecting him," Lucius said. "Show him in."

Whimpering softly, Dobby slipped out of the room. Lucius stared at the door without moving until it opened again.

It was not Dobby, this time, who came inside.

Lucius bowed. "My lord."

Lord Voldemort closed the library door, and with a click the latch caught. Sliding his wand out of his robes, Voldemort cast an Imperturbable Charm over the door. Then he turned to Lucius.

"Your elf seems to have been taken ill," Voldemort said.

Lucius's chest tightened. Dobby had been inept. "I hope he wasn't rude, my lord," Lucius said.

"No--that is, I don't think so. I couldn't quite make out what was wrong with him. He seemed almost incapable of taking my cloak. I think the idea of my removing my hood distressed him."

"I'll speak to him if you'd like--"

"That won't be necessary." Voldemort chuckled. His pallid skin crinkled at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes reflected the golden candlelight as a red gleam. "I found him diverting."

Lucius breathed again. He gestured to two leather armchairs before the empty hearth. "Won't you sit down, my lord?"

Voldemort settled himself in one of the chairs while Lucius went to the sideboard. On its marble table top stood a decanter of claret and two empty glasses. Lucius poured wine into both glasses. He placed them on an ornately-carved side table between the two armchairs and took the unoccupied chair for himself.

Voldemort extended a long, thin hand to one of the glasses. "Delightful," he said after a couple of sips. He looked round the room. "As is everything here." His eyes completed their circuit and stopped on Lucius. "I am grateful you have finally seen fit to offer me your hospitality."

"You are always welcome here, my lord," Lucius said quickly.

"If only I'd known it. But you mentioned wishing to sponsor a Death Eater, which is something else you've never done before."

Lucius sat up straighter. But even as he ordered his thoughts, he saw a slow, smiling comprehension dawn on Lord Voldemort's face. "I waited until I found someone who could be of real use to you."

To his surprise, Voldemort laughed aloud. "Meaning I believe most of them aren't! Who is the Legilimens here, I wonder?"

"I wouldn't say 'most,' my lord," Lucius said. "You have many energetic and efficient servants--"

Voldemort cut him off with a wave of the hand. "Never mind. Who is this treasure you wish to lay at my feet?"

"He is a wizard," said Lucius, "by the name of Severus Snape."

"Snape," said Voldemort. "Not one of your illustrious extended family, I take it. Perhaps that is why I have never heard the name?"

It was not his bloodlines which recommended Severus Snape, but Lucius had learned enough about the Dark Lord not to say so. "The wizard himself is somewhat obscure, my lord. A recently-qualified Apothecary at St. Mungo's Hospital. I knew him at Hogwarts. He was five years behind me and one year behind Rabastan Lestrange and Olaus Ruskin." Lucius paused, then added, "Snape was in Azkaban on the day Ruskin was Kissed. He witnessed the whole thing."

Voldemort lifted a scanty eyebrow. "This Snape--he saw fifty dementors run amok and survived with mind enough to tell you the tale?"

"He didn't just survive. Do you remember the article in the _Daily Prophet?_ 'Apprentice Auror James Potter and another Ministry employee expelled the rogue dementors from the prison infirmary.' The Ministry didn't want it known that the 'other employee' was a contract Apothecary, that there wasn't another Auror on the island capable of giving Potter a hand."

Voldemort had been lounging lazily in the depths of the armchair, tilting his wineglass to catch the candlelight. At the mention of James Potter, he sat up and looked sharply at Lucius. "Why was Snape with Potter in the first place?"

"They were working together on a secret Ministry project."

"Working together on a secret Ministry project," the Dark Lord repeated. "Dear me, Lucius. I must admire your nerve. You don't wish to sponsor just anyone, do you? No. _Your_ protégé is friends with Albus Dumbledore's favourite! "

"Oh, I didn't say Snape and Potter were _friends_, my lord."

"Perhaps you had better start your story from the very beginning."

"Certainly, my lord." Lucius did not let his eyes drop, for this was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? He had no great magical power to offer the Lord. His greatest assets were his position and his connections. And, strange to say, Severus Snape, the grimy little half-blood charity boy and debt-ridden Apothecary, was one of the best connections he had ever made.

He coughed discreetly and began: "It hardly hurts our cause, does it, my lord, that the Ministry are not above blackmail?"

That drew from Voldemort both a chuckle and his close attention. Encouraged, Lucius launched into the tale of Apothecary Severus Snape.

Snape had accepted an assignment to a secret Ministry project in Azkaban. There his task was to formulate a powerful Defences-Downdraught, a potion to weaken the psychological and magical defences of Death Eaters under interrogation, making them more susceptible to the influence of the dementors. Snape had had no idea that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had begun to use dementors as guards, that they'd set the creatures to hover over prisoners and sap their strength.

"I am surprised, Lucius, that you don't offer me the wizard who dreamt up _that_ scheme," Voldemort said.

"I understand it was Barty Crouch's brainchild, my lord."

"Barty Crouch! That stern upholder of the law, that righteous foe of all that is Dark! I'm shocked, simply shocked."

"Well," Lucius said. "Severus Snape was at least as shocked as you are, apparently. He wanted nothing to do with dementors and tried to pull out of the project."

But the Ministry had a special hold on Apothecary Snape. Apothecary Melusine Morgan, his supervisor at St. Mungo's, had caught him in possession of Hidden Hellebore, an illegal powder which, when taken, induced a fatal stroke.

"Snape disposed of the Hidden Hellebore in Morgan's presence, and, according to him, that was the end of it," Lucius said. "That is, until the Warden of Azkaban was interviewing him for the Ministry project. When Snape balked at the dementors, Warden Reid reminded him that the penalty for the possession of Hidden Hellebore was three years in Azkaban and the revocation of his Apothecary's licence."

"How did Reid find out?" asked Voldemort.

"I'm only speculating here," said Lucius. "But I think Morgan reported Snape and was ordered to cooperate in hushing the matter up. If she went through the proper channels, a record of the incident would have arrived in the Poisons Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. From there, one can easily imagine it reaching the ears of Barty Crouch, who at that time was beating the bushes for a skilled Potioner willing to work alongside dementors in Azkaban."

"Well, well," said Voldemort. "Barty Crouch has the brain of a Death Eater, if not the stomach." A smile snaked across his face. "Hidden Hellebore. This is most promising. I know very few Potioners with the skill to formulate that powder. And fewer still with the motive."

"I remember Severus had a knack for making enemies at school," Lucius said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't have said he wanted to _kill_ them."

"What about outside of school?"

"I really don't know, now that you mention it. Severus was the sort of boy who didn't seem to have an existence outside of Hogwarts, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," said the Lord. "Since I was that sort of boy myself. Is he an orphan, then?"

"Oh, no, he has family. His mother is a pure-blood witch, as a matter of fact, one of the Princes. She married very badly. A Muggle from some mill town in the north, I forget where, exactly. Severus never spoke about them."

"Didn't he?" Voldemort said. He was lounging in the chair again, intent on the candlelight scattering as it struck the clear red wine in his glass. "Did you ever see any of them?"

"The mother, a few times. A plain creature, and rather sad. Very lonely, I'm sure. Her family cut her off, you know, after she married Tobias Snape."

"And Tobias Snape was not enough to fill the void they left?"

"No, I don't suppose he was." Lucius didn't see how any one person could make up for the rejection of one's family, for the loss of the tightly-woven network of kinship and power that was pure-blood wizarding society.

"So Reid blackmailed Snape into making the Defences-Downdraught by holding the Hidden Hellebore incident over his head," Voldemort said. "And Snape's duties in Azkaban involved a close association with dementors."

"And with prisoners under interrogation whom the dementors had yet to cow. Snape told me Olaus Ruskin was his first subject. Ruskin hadn't said a word to the Aurors, though they'd surrounded him with dementors for weeks. So Snape brewed the Defences-Downdraught, and Potter, who was the interrogator, forced it down Ruskin's throat."

"So this is where Potter comes in? Law Enforcement are setting Apprentices to interrogate experienced and powerful Death Eaters like Olaus Ruskin? No wonder they're not getting anywhere."

"Most of the qualified Aurors refuse to do it, and Alastor Moody won't force them. If the Apprentices refuse, Crouch sees to it they're thrown out of the programme."

"Ah, I understand," said the Lord. "So it was James Potter who lost control of the dementors, one of which sucked out Olaus Ruskin's soul."

"More or less," said Lucius.

"And did Potter think it needed fifty dementors to break Ruskin's spirit?"

"No," Lucius said. "Emotions were running high in the infirmary where Ruskin was being interrogated. The furore drew dementors from all over the prison. Snape and Potter dispelled them right off the island. Most of them have been lost for good. The ones the Ministry have found, they're having difficulty luring back. Needless to say, the project's been shut down."

Voldemort stared into the empty hearth. "Snape and Potter dispelled fifty dementors from Azkaban Island. How on earth did they do that?"

Lucius took a moment to ensure that his voice held no anxiety. "They conjured linked Patronuses which chased the dementors away."

For a few seconds Voldemort was silent. Then he shifted forward, set his glass on the side table and stared at Lucius.

Lucius refused to blink. He looked into Voldemort's eyes and noted the way the irises leaked, like glistening rivulets of blood, into the whites.

"Why, Lucius," the Lord said, in his softest, silkiest tone. "You didn't tell me this protégé of yours was so Light that he could conjure a Patronus. You do understand that is the signature skill of the most powerful witches and wizards in Albus Dumbledore's Order?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said, fully expecting to be answered by a Cruciatus Curse.

"Whatever made you think I would have any use for a wizard like that? Whatever made you think such a wizard could even survive the taking of the Dark Mark? How do I know you're not offering me--quite _mistakenly_, of course--one of Albus Dumbledore's spies?"

Lucius managed to speak without a tremor. "Because Severus Snape is every bit as Dark as he is Light. I am certain Dumbledore would have nothing to do with him."

Voldemort stared at Lucius, sorting through the layers of his mind, scrutinising thought and memory until Lucius felt sweat collect on his upper lip and at the nape of his neck.

Finally Voldemort released him. He rose and took their glasses to the sideboard. While Voldemort poured more wine, Lucius, with a stifled sigh, allowed himself to relax.

Voldemort returned, handed Lucius his glass of wine and sat back down. "You really believe what you just said. Tell me why."

Lucius drank in long swallows, until he felt the wine tidying the disorder Legilimency had left in his brain. "Well, there is the Hidden Hellebore, my lord."

"True."

"And, as I say, I knew Snape in school. The way I knew him--the way everyone knew him--was through his bad temper and his clever spell work. He came to Hogwarts knowing more Dark hexes and jinxes than most seventh-years. And he didn't just con the spells out of books. By the time he was in second year, he was inventing his own."

Lucius smiled reminiscently. "I shan't forget the time he hexed Potter's toenails so that they split his shoe leather and grew a foot long. This while Potter was flying three hundred feet off the ground during a Cup match with Slytherin. You should have seen him trying to keep his balance."

"Potter again?"

"Snape and Potter were the worst of enemies during school, my lord. The Patronus business was a fluke, I assure you."

"Go on."

"Well, then. Toenail-growing aside, practical jokes weren't Severus's forte. He's a wizard of more gravity than that. You've seen that new flesh-slicing spell the Lestrange brothers are teaching to the Death Eaters."

"Yes. Sectumsempra." The incantation came out on a hiss of satisfaction. "Who knew Rabastan had it in him, to pick up a spell like that on his own? Or are you saying he didn't?"

Lucius chuckled. "Rabastan? No. That spell was invented by Severus Snape while he was in his fifth year at Hogwarts. He perfected it in his sixth year. That's when he taught it to Olaus Ruskin and Rabastan Lestrange."

Voldemort sat back in the armchair, out of sight. He was silent again. The rain had stopped. All Lucius could hear was the irregular dripping of water from the eaves.

"How do you know all this?" Voldemort asked at last.

"I asked Ruskin. Because I did wonder. Rabastan Lestrange doesn't have the brains to invent something like Sectumsempra, and the spell just wasn't Ruskin's style. Ruskin would blow you off your feet with a Stunner, or, if he had to, he'd kill you cleanly with Avada Kedavra. He wasn't the sort who would enjoy slicing his opponent to ribbons and watching him bleed to death."

"Is Snape that sort?" Voldemort asked.

"I think he could be," Lucius said.

"How very interesting," Voldemort said softly. "Sectumsempra." Again he made the word into a hiss of pleasure. "It isn't an Unforgivable."

"We haven't used it on an enemy yet. I doubt the Ministry knows of its existence. They haven't ruled on its status, at any rate."

"They'll make it illegal," said Voldemort, "but not Unforgivable. How could they? It doesn't rob you of your free will or, necessarily, kill you. That makes it rather a useful spell, legally speaking. You can't clap someone in Azkaban for life simply for using it. And your protégé invented it." The Lord sounded much more pleased with Snape than he had a few minutes before. "Did he have a counter-spell? The Lestranges aren't teaching one."

"Perhaps he has now," Lucius said. "But he was still working on the counter when he taught the spell to Ruskin. Ruskin said the counter-curse looked as though it would be much more complicated than Sectumsempra itself."

"I don't imagine the damage would be easy to repair," Voldemort said. "But that's the way of it, with the best Dark curses. Their effects are difficult--if not impossible--to reverse."

There was another silence. Lucius waited through it, listening to the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the dripping from the eaves outside.

"So, Lucius," Voldemort said finally. "Does Severus Snape know about us yet?"

"I've prepared him, my lord. He thinks of the Death Eaters as a beleaguered political party, with you as our courageous and plain-spoken leader. Severus is ambitious, a true Slytherin. He is already sympathetic to the aims of the traditional pure-bloods."

"Ah, I see. He has ideas above his station."

"I did not say so, my lord," Lucius answered mildly.

"No, I did. And I quite approve of poverty-stricken half-bloods who aspire to greater things. Perhaps you told him he would rise quickly in our ranks?"

"I did not take that liberty, my lord," Lucius said. "But I think he would rise."

"What else did you tell him?"

"I told him I was sure you would want to meet him. Then I showed him my Dark Mark."

Voldemort gave a short, cold laugh. "You are as foolhardy as any Gryffindor, Lucius. What if he turns you in?"

"I don't think he will."

"Why not?"

"I simply have that feeling, after talking with him about what he saw in Azkaban. I trust Severus Snape."

"You _trust_ him? Why?"

"Perhaps because I can read him. He thinks he's good at hiding his feelings but actually wears his heart on his sleeve. I trust him because I'm fairly sure I know what he wants."

"Are you? I find it's not so easy to uncover a man's true desires."

Lucius smiled. "I say I'm _fairly_ sure, my lord."

"It does seem that, in this Snape's case, it would be an interesting voyage of discovery," said Voldemort. "When will you introduce us?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that, my lord," Lucius replied. "The Aurors and the Death Eaters have been keeping St. Mungo's Hospital very busy. Apothecary Snape is frequently required to work overtime."

"I hope you won't keep me waiting too long, Lucius. You have me brimming with anticipation."

Lucius knew what that meant: that, having betrayed so much, he had better not allow Snape to balk. "I won't, my lord," he said.

"Contact me in the usual way," Voldemort said. He rose, indicating that their interview was at an end.

Lucius rang for Dobby. The elf arrived trembling as before. His eyes lit on Lord Voldemort and bulged with terror.

"Show the Lord out," Lucius said, with a look that told Dobby he would brook no protests.

Lucius could have escorted the Lord to the front door. But Dobby was sometimes unacceptably rebellious. Occasionally he needed lessons in obedience and deportment.

"Y--es, Lucius Malfoy, sir."

Voldemort looked down at Dobby and smiled. Dobby, avoiding his eyes, watched the floor ahead of him as he led Lord Voldemort out of Lucius Malfoy's library.


	2. Chapter 2

SEPTEMBER, 1975

Potions was Severus Snape's first lesson of the autumn term and the first N.E.W.T.s lesson of his life, so he decided to arrive early. He wanted to be there in time to take a table in the middle of the row furthest from the door, not so far forward that he couldn't keep an eye on what was happening around him, nor so far back that he wouldn't be noticed. He also wanted to be in his seat when Professor Slughorn arrived, with his cauldron set up and his textbook and parchment and sharpened quill ready to hand. And if he could accomplish all this without having to run the gauntlet of James Potter's gang of Gryffindors, well, that would be best of all.

By keeping his goals in the forefront of his mind, Severus not only arrived early, he arrived first. He took his favourite seat and watched the door.

Evan Rosier came in next, attended as usual by a retinue. This time, his followers were Fordon Avery, Douglas Wilkes and Vera Vaisey. Wilkes and Vaisey were clever enough, but Severus had no idea how Fordon Avery had attained the Exceeds Expectations on his Potions O.W.L. which Slughorn required for his N.E.W.T.s class. The four of them took the table in front of Severus, Vaisey managing to slide into the seat next to Rosier.

They nodded to Severus and said their helloes. Then they turned their backs on him. Avery compared lessons schedules with Wilkes. Vaisey chattered with Rosier about Quidditch just as though she knew or cared anything about the sport.

They noticed him just enough, Severus thought, so that he'd have no good reason to resent them later if they asked for his help with a difficult brewing.

More students came in, some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who gathered into their own House cliques and chose their tables accordingly.

Then a commotion in the corridor--laughter and the pounding of running feet--overwhelmed the low-voiced conversation and quiet giggling of a class waiting for their teacher.

A voice outside the door rose above the racket:

"If I hadn't yanked the sheet out from under you, Potter, you'd still be snoring away in bed! Ripping the blankets off you wasn't enough! Was it, Peter?"

Sirius Black. Pettigrew's shrill laughter answered him.

"No!" said Pettigrew. "I tried, didn't I? Didn't I try?"

"You ripped those blankets as good as anybody could," Black agreed.

"Bloody prats." James Potter burst into the Potions classroom, running his hand through his hair. "God." He yawned hugely. "Is nine o'clock really daytime?"

Black, Pettigrew and Lupin clattered noisily in after Potter. So all four of them, Severus noted sourly, had qualified for N.E.W.T.s Potions.

"Has to be, if Sluggy can think so," said Black.

"True," said Lupin. "He doesn't strike me as somebody who enjoys greeting the dawn."

Potter led his gang toward his own preferred spot, at the back of the classroom. Black, bringing up the rear, suddenly pulled his wand out of his robes. Severus bristled instinctively, but Black didn't seem to have noticed him. Holding his wand vertically, he was watching its tip. A bluebell flame appeared there and, rather like a prodded caterpillar, curled itself into a tight, gleaming ball.

Black flicked the ball in Potter's direction. "Oy, Potter, wake up!"

Potter whirled around, his wand at the ready. He twitched it and sent the ball back toward Black. Soon they were engaged in something like a high-speed game of tennis, the ball of bluebell-flame whizzing back and forth between their wands, faster and faster, until it was no more than a bright blur.

Pettigrew whooped and clapped his hands.

"You idiots!" Lupin said, laughing. "If one of you misses, this classroom'll go up in smoke!"

"He's right, you know?" Black said, flinging the bluebell-flame ball back at Potter.

Potter stopped it in mid-air. "Better do something about it, I reckon." Keeping his wand trained on the ball, he stared at it for a second or two. It began to bob and dart about in the air. Then it turned from blue to shimmering gold and grew a pair of wings.

Several of the girls gasped and twittered in admiration. "A Snitch!" cried Pettigrew. "That's brilliant!"

Lupin said nothing, but his eyes as they followed the Golden Snitch were full of wonder.

"Not bad," Black allowed. "You took over my magic. 'Course I wasn't _trying_ to hold the flame in form."

"Show-off," said Rosier in a low, clear voice. "Just listen to the birds cooing over him. But Slughorn should be walking in any minute now. Maybe this time he'll catch Potty breaking the rules."

Potter answered only with a smirk. He took neither his eyes nor his wand off the Snitch. Slowly it enlarged. When it was about the size of a cricket ball, Potter whirled and said, "Catch, Snivelly!"

What flew in Severus's direction was not a swollen Snitch, but a Bogey Curse--a disgusting mass of goo with threads of mucus flying behind it like the tail of a comet. Just in time, Severus ducked. As he did so, he felt the passage of a spell raise the hairs on the nape of his neck. Then he heard the wet, squelchy slap of the giant bogey hitting the wall behind him.

In another moment, Severus was up with his wand aimed at Potter. He was just in time to deflect Potter's Jelly-Legs Jinx. In the next second he had his wand trained on Potter's head.

_"Radeo!"_ Severus said, and a girl snapped, "Potter! What are you doing? Put that wand away!"

The girl was Lily Evans. Startled by the sound of her voice, Potter turned. At the same time, his hair vanished from his head, leaving him as bald as an egg.

Alice Aylsworth, who had come in with Lily, started to laugh. Rosier and the Slytherins at his table roared. Severus merely smiled.

"No fighting!" Lily shouted above the tumult. "Especially in a classroom, with magic! You know that's not allowed!" She glared at Potter, yet Severus saw her lips twitch.

Potter touched his bald pate with a look of dismay. "Come on, Evans, give me a break! I think I got the worst of it here!"

Lupin cocked an ear toward the classroom door while they were speaking and waved his wand at the blob of mucus on the wall behind Severus. _"Evanesco!"_ he said, and the bogey disappeared.

"If you're going to be such a perfect prefect," said Potter, "what about Snivellus? _He's_ the one who--"

Finally Lily gave in. Holding her stomach and pointing at Potter's head, she drowned Potter out with gales of laughter. Just as she was uttering a particularly shrill whoop, Professor Slughorn appeared in the classroom doorway.

Slughorn looked taken aback, until he saw it was Lily Evans who was laughing. Then his face relaxed in an avuncular smile.

"Well, Miss Evans. I hope you will always find .T.s Potions as entertaining as you do today."

Lily straightened and turned. Her cheeks were pink, yet she gave Slughorn an impudent grin. "I think I can count on doing so, sir, as long as Potter's in the class."

"Now, Lily, was that nice?" Professor Slughorn chortled. He looked at Potter. "I don't suppose I'd better ask what happened?"

"No, Professor," the scarlet-faced Potter said.

Potter was too proud to tattle to a teacher, especially in front of a classroom full of students who had just witnessed his humiliation. If he ran true to form, he'd look for revenge later, when he and Severus were out of sight of the teachers.

"That's all right," Slughorn said to Potter. "Your common or garden Instant Scalping Hex, of insufficient gravity, shall we say, to be part of a school curriculum, but sorted out easily enough." With a flourish of his wand, he restored Potter's hair. To Severus it looked much neater than usual.

Slughorn, his belly jiggling slightly under a brocade waistcoat, strode to the front of the dungeon and stationed himself behind the lectern. "Settle down, everyone! To your seats!" Everyone who hadn't yet seated themselves scattered to various tables. Potter and his gang went to the rear table, while Lily and Alice Aylsworth sat in the middle of the classroom, next to Severus's table.

"Now, then!" said Slughorn. "You all have your textbooks, Borage, _Advanced Potion-Making?_" There were nods and murmurs in the affirmative. "Good! But don't open it yet," he said, beaming at Circe Clearwater, a Ravenclaw who had opened her book and was flipping through its pages. She looked up, snapped the book shut and laid it at the far corner of her table.

"You see," Slughorn continued, "I always enjoy discovering how well-informed my new N.E.W.T.s students are about some of the more useful potions. One of these potions," he said, turning and writing on the blackboard, "is an Antisomnia Infusion. Can anyone tell me the chief uses of an Antisomnia Infusion?"

Severus and Lily raised their hands.

"You drink it when you need to pull an all-nighter before an exam?" suggested Black.

A couple of the girls giggled shrilly. "Stupid berk," muttered Potter, stifling a snort of laughter.

"I'd say you were partly right, Mr Black, if I noticed students who didn't raise their hands," Slughorn said. "Miss Evans?"

"Well, you _can_ use it for studying, if you don't mind not being able to sleep for a week," Lily said. "But it's usually used to rouse people out of states of reduced sensibility--anything from lethargy to coma. You can also use it to ameliorate the after-effects of a particularly hard Stunning Spell."

"Very good, Miss Evans!" Slughorn said. "Five points to Gryffindor! Now, can anyone give me the chief active ingredient of an Antisomnia Infusion?"

Severus raised his hand. Lily shot hers up again, and he felt his lips tighten.

"Surely there's someone besides Lily who knows the answer?" Slughorn asked. But, smiling indulgently at Lily, he didn't look for any other raised hands.

Rosier watched Slughorn and Lily with a look of amused contempt. "Severus here seems to know it," he said.

Lily looked at Severus for the first time. Her hand lowered an inch.

Slughorn didn't look as though he had heard Rosier. "Oh, very well, Miss Evans, since no one here wishes to steal your thunder!" he said. "The chief ingredient of an Antisomnia Infusion is--?"

Severus pulled his hand down and closed it in a fist on the top of his table.

"Miss Evans?"

"Oh--er, yes. The chief active ingredient of an Antisomnia Infusion is a double-strength infusion of Caffea leaves."

"Very good! Five more points to Gryffindor! You'll win your House the Cup at this rate, Miss Evans!" Slughorn said. "Very well, then! Divide into pairs, and we shall all brew an Antisomnia Infusion. The recipe's in Borage, on page eleven." He turned to the blackboard and began writing down ingredients and measurements. "But you might want to keep your textbook a good distance from your cauldron, as this potion can be rather messy."

The students gravitated toward partners, except for Vera Vaisey, who didn't gravitate but practically leaped on Rosier. Avery and Wilkes, who always acted like some old couple who had been together twenty years, bent their heads over Wilkes's cauldron.

So none of the Slytherins wanted Severus as a partner. He looked around, wondering whether there was anybody else in the room he could endure for the next two hours.

"Severus?"

Starting, Severus turned. Lily was standing beside his chair.

"Be my partner?" she asked.

Severus stared at Lily without answering. Rosier eyed her languidly. "These are the Slytherin tables," he said. "Your kind aren't wanted here."

Lily returned Rosier's look with a glare. "I don't recall asking you."

Where was Aylsworth? Hadn't she been sitting with Lily? Severus looked around. Alice Aylsworth was measuring pomegranate juice at Circe Clearwater's table. They'd already started their potion.

And Lily was still standing at his table, her cauldron and textbook under her arm. "Well, Severus?"

Before, in Slytherin and Gryffindor Double Potions, she'd never had to ask. Then came a sunny day by the lake in June, after the Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.

_"I'd wash your pants if I were you, __Snivellus_."

And a dark night in the corridor before the Fat Lady's portrait.

_"You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."_

Not to mention the street outside Lily's house last summer. Severus had hung about there sometimes, staring up at her bedroom window, trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door, to ask for her, to try again to apologise, until one day the lump her Muggle sister called a boyfriend had stridden out spewing threats. _He'd_ got off easy. Severus's hand had strayed perilously close to his wand. But then he'd seen Lily at the bedroom window, pale, expressionless, colder than she'd been in the corridor before the portrait-hole. The heart had gone right out of him then. He'd slunk home to his mother and the other Muggle, and he'd never gone back.

"Why?" Severus asked Lily suspiciously.

"Because I intend to do well in Potions," said Lily. "And you're the best Potions student in our year. So I want to partner with you."

"The best Potions student?" Severus's suspicion grew. He tilted his head toward Slughorn. "Not according to him."

Avery, Wilkes and Vera Vaisey had joined Rosier in staring malevolently at Evans. She didn't appear to notice.

"All right, second-best. But still, the best person in the room I could have as my partner."

Severus looked at her, startled again, thrown quite off-balance. It was like the old days, the contests between them over who'd get the better mark in this brewing, on that exam. "Second-best, am I? We'll see about that." he pulled out the chair beside him. "Sit down."

---

"Where are the night-owl's eyes?" Severus demanded.

He and Lily Evans had their _Advanced Potion-Making_ textbooks open to the recipe for the Antisomnia Infusion.

"What?" said Lily.

"This book is wrong, as usual!" Severus jabbed it with his forefinger. "Unless you add two dried ground night-owl's eyes thirty minutes into the simmering, an Antisomnia Infusion isn't good for much more than waking a baby from its afternoon nap!"

"How do you know that?"

"I _know," _Severus said. "I _know_ Horace Slughorn is an idiot for not revising these potions before trying to teach them to us."

"I wouldn't tell him that if I were you," Lily advised.

Severus scanned the rest of the recipe. "And it needs betony _root._ The leaves lengthen the brewing by forty-five minutes."

"Really? Where did you learn that? Your mum?"

Lily had hardly ever seen or spoken to Severus's "mum;" her parents never let her come to his house. "None of your business!" he snapped.

"Fine!" Lily snapped back. "I don't care where you learned it. I just hope what you learned is right!"

Severus heard sniggering from Rosier's table. "It's right. I'm going up front to get the ingredients. You light the cauldron."

"Yes, _sir."_

"Erm--please," said Severus.

Vera Vaisey choked with laughter. Lily took her wand out and let it drop with an ominous _clack!_ on the tabletop. "And then maybe I'll cast a Throat-clearing Charm on Vera," she said.

Severus made his escape. He headed for the storage cupboard behind Slughorn's desk. But when he reached it, he found he had to stand in line behind Lupin and Pettigrew, who were both foraging in the tiny, neatly-labelled drawers for ingredients.

Lupin looked up and smiled. "Hello, Severus."

"Lupin," Severus answered shortly. Lupin was far from being Severus's friend, so why was he always trying to force chat out of him? Pettigrew, on the other hand, gave him a wary glance, grabbed a phial from the drawer labelled Peppermint Oil, added it to the bags and bottles he was clutching to his chest and quickly left.

Lupin took a small cloth bag from the drawer labelled _Betony Leaves_. "Peter's got the rest of our ingredients, so I'll leave you to it," he said cheerfully, just as if they were concluding a pleasant conversation.

Severus sourly watched Lupin's retreating back. He preferred Pettigrew's attitude of cautious dislike. At least he knew Pettigrew was sincere.

Severus turned to the rows of drawers, scanning their labels. He reached the row of ingredients whose names began with the letter N: _Nasturtium; Nettle; Newt, eye of; Nightshade, black..._

There were no night-owl's eyes.

Severus sighed. Perhaps Slughorn kept dried night-owl's eyes in his locked stores; he'd have to ask. But he might as well get the rest of the ingredients first. He went to the B's. There was betony root. He took the small glass jar out of the drawer, uncorked it and removed two dried roots.

"Betony _root,_ Severus, m'boy? Doesn't the recipe call for betony _leaves?"_

Severus gritted his teeth and turned around. There was Professor Slughorn, smiling brightly.

"Yes, it does," Severus said evenly. "But you can cut forty-five minutes off the brewing time if you add two chopped betony roots forty minutes after the potion comes to a boil."

"Really? I think I may say I know my Borage inside and out. I don't recall seeing any alternative methods or substitutions for making an Antisomnia Infusion."

"That's because Borage didn't put them in," said Severus. "Oh, and I was going to ask you, sir, if you happened to have two dried night-owl's eyes on hand?"

Slughorn's smile thinned a bit. "Why do you want night-owl's eyes?"

"To add to the potion. They'll make it much more efficacious." Severus paused. "As you must know, sir."

The smile faded away. "Yes, I do." Slughorn looked oddly at Severus. "They also make it much more difficult to brew. It takes a wizard of a certain magical capacity--not to mention one possessed of a very high degree of potioning skill--to brew an Antisomnia Infusion using night-owl's eyes. I happen to believe it's beyond the capabilities of a sixth-year, which is one reason I don't teach that version of the potion. In fact," he said, looking even more narrowly at Severus, "I'm surprised you know about that version at all."

"I read about it in a book I picked up in Diagon Alley," Severus lied.

"Did you?" Slughorn asked. "Well, I do happen to have two dried night-owl's eyes in my locked cupboard. But you don't have to make the potion that way, you know. Borage's version is perfectly acceptable to me, or I wouldn't teach it. It's perfectly acceptable to the N.E.W.T.s examiners too, if that's what you're worried about."

"But it isn't _right_," Severus said. "The Antisomnia Infusion can be a very powerful potion if you brew it properly. I want to learn how to make it right."

"Obviously you think you already know how to make it right. Very well. Wait here." Slughorn left the classroom and returned in a couple of minutes with a small linen bag, tied neatly and tightly at the top. "Two dried night-owl's eyes." He handed the bag to Severus and fixed him with a protuberant eye. "You're making this assignment much harder than it needs to be. I repeat that night-owl's eyes are very difficult to work with. And I must warn you that if you botch this potion, I can't give you extra points for attempting more than is expected of a sixth-year student. In potioning, it's very dangerous to form the habit of reaching beyond your grasp."

"Yes, sir," Severus said. He refrained from adding, "Would you have said the same thing to Lily Evans if I'd sent her up for the night-owl's eyes?" He already knew the answer to that.

---

After collecting the rest of his ingredients, Severus made his way back to his seat, the memory of Slughorn's doubt egging him on to brew the best Antisomnia Infusion that dungeon had ever seen. Lily was leaning over the table when he arrived, wand poised above their cauldron, her hair shining like an ember in a shaft of sunlight that fell through one of the high dungeon windows. She was checking the cauldron's internal temperature.

It was a useful step that no other student in the room bothered to take, but then Lily was brighter than the rest of them.

Severus had sat down and was arranging the potion ingredients beside the cauldron when a noxious odour assailed his nostrils. Looking up, he saw a sickly-green vapour rising from Lupin's and Pettigrew's cauldron. Pettigrew looked as green as the vapour. Lupin was anxiously riffling through the pages of his textbook.

Beside them, Potter's and Black's cauldron wasn't even lit. Black, tilted idly back in his chair, grinned over the cauldron at Potter. Potter glared across the room at Lily Evans.

He must have heard what had happened last term, after O.W.L.s, after the lake, after Severus had all but crawled to the Fat Lady's portrait and lain in the corridor beneath it, waiting for--longing for--Lily to come out to him. How Potter must have laughed! He must have believed he'd won her at last. Until today, as he looked on the one thing he wanted least to see: Lily Evans fallen back into her old ways, sitting next to Severus Snape.

No one would expect James Potter's friend to sit next to Severus Snape. For to James Potter, friendship meant doing things James Potter's way. You had to like those whom he liked, hate those whom he hated, admire what he did, do as he said--in short, you had to toe his line or risk being chased down the corridors by his hexes and jinxes for the entire school year.

Perhaps Potter had better not expect the same submission from Lily Evans that he got from the rest of Gryffindor House. Perhaps in Lily Evans, Potter would find he'd met his match. She was one of the very few Gryffindor girls who didn't swoon every time he passed by, and she was every bit as clever and powerful as he was.

So perhaps Severus would fall back into his own old ways and ask Lily to partner with him in future Potions assignments. He might then at least be treated to some entertaining duels.

---

Lily's wand turned red-gold at its tip, indicating that the inside of the cauldron had reached the proper temperature. She opened her potions kit, removed a bottle of inert base and poured it in.

Then she looked at the linen bag which Severus had placed at the centre of the table. "What did Slughorn say when you asked for the eyes of a night-owl?" she asked.

"That he would fail us if we botched the potion."

"I was afraid of that," Lily said gloomily. She began to measure and weigh the potion ingredients. "The recipe says to add everything else after the base has simmered for twenty minutes. That includes the betony leaves."

Severus took out his silver-bladed knife and chopped the betony root. "The root doesn't go in for forty minutes."

Twenty minutes passed, and Lily added the ingredients she had prepared. She gave the little linen bag a tentative poke. "What about those things?"

"Those 'things' need delicate treatment and proper timing" Severus slid the chopped betony root into a paper, which he placed next to the cauldron. He took a chamois cloth from his potions kit. After wiping the blade clean, he handed his knife to Lily, for she was a better hand at chopping and cutting than he was. Then he pulled his watch out of his pocket, his mortar and pestle from his kit and placed both on the table.

"In exactly three minutes and twelve seconds," he announced, "you will begin to cut the night-owl's eyes on a ten-degree angle into slices the width of three human hairs."

Lily stared at him. "Ten deg--three human hairs--how am I supposed to do that?"

''That's your problem," said Severus, recalling how very cold and hard the flagged floor in front of the Fat Lady's portrait had been last year.

"You think so?" Lily tossed Severus's knife on the table in front of him. "Well, you're wrong. It's _your_ problem, because _you're_ going to do it."

This time, there was no sniggering from the table in front of them. Avery and Wilkes were waving their wands desperately, trying to put a stop to the black sludge bubbling over the side of their cauldron. Rosier and Vera Vaisey, nervously glancing at their own watches, had only begun to infuse their Caffea leaves.

"I can't," Severus said. "I won't have the time. I have to begin grinding each slice within one and a quarter seconds after it's cut." He pushed his watch closer to Lily. "And you have to begin in exactly two minutes, sixteen seconds. If you don't do your part properly, the ingredients won't meld into a potion, no matter what I do. So we'll fail the assignment, and it will be your fault."

Lily pressed her lips into a thin line. She opened the bag and took out the dried eyes, which were wrinkled and somewhat flattened. She looked at them with distaste, then, setting her jaw, plucked three dark red hairs from her head. She bound and stiffened them with charms until they looked like what they needed to be: a precise and delicate measuring instrument. She laid the three hairs crosswise against one of the eyes and murmured an Arithmancer's formula over it. Tiny marks appeared on the eye, distanced from one another by the width of three human hairs and slanted at an angle of ten degrees.

Lily performed the same magic on the other eye. Then, sitting with her knife poised over the eyes, she nudged Severus's watch back toward him. "You watch the time, and tell me when to start," she said.

She'd prepared the eyes with thirty seconds to spare. Not bad, Severus thought. Not bad at all.

---

But Severus was every bit as handy with a pestle as Lily was with a knife. Furthermore, he'd charmed the mortar to ring like an alarm clock when he had ground the eye-slices to a powder of exactly the right consistency, so that he could pour the powder without any damaging delay into the bubbling Antisomnia Infusion.

He emptied the last mortar of powder into the cauldron and said, "There! The hardest part's done."

In five minutes a shimmering silver mist arose from the cauldron. It had the scent and the nostril-pinching effect of a cold winter wind.

"Excellent!" said Severus. "The potion's coming along perfectly."

"By the book," said Lily, who was reading the recipe. "Thirty minutes into the brewing time, we're supposed to be getting 'a silver steam which has an effect on the breathing passages as of freezing air.'"

Rosier turned in his seat. "You don't have any more of those eyes, do you?" His and Vaisey's potion was giving off a dirty-looking yellow vapour that smelled like sulphur. Avery and Wilkes had moved to another table after the sludge overflowing from their cauldron had burned a hole in the table top.

"Sorry, no," said Severus.

"You're too late anyway," Lily said, wrinkling her nose at the sulphurous stench. "Even if we did have any more owl eyes, and even if we did want to give them to you."

Rosier didn't answer but stared at Lily coldly before turning back to his potion. She was wise enough to wait until then to give him a taunting smile.

Ten more minutes saw the betony root added to the Antisomnia Infusion. After that, Severus sat back. "Six minutes of simmering and we're done." He gestured around the room. "The rest of these poor sods have forty-five minutes' work ahead of them."

Once again, Lily had her nose in the textbook. "Just simmering? No turning up and down of the heat, no clockwise and anticlockwise stirring?"

"Yes, no, and no. Our work is done."

"Hmph!" said Lily. "Well, how about that!" It was clear from the look on her face that she hadn't had complete faith in Severus before this.

She'd have it now. And so, surely, would Slughorn. At the moment he was bent over Lupin's and Pettigrew's potion. Green fumes rose around his head and his moustache quivered with disgust.

"But, Mr Pettigrew, didn't you read the recipe?" Slughorn said. "It says three drops of Peppermint Oil, not five!"

"I didn't mean to, sir, it was an accident; those droppers aren't very easy to use!"

Not for clumsy dolts, they weren't, Severus thought.

It was no less satisfying to see Black biting his lip in concentration as he stirred his potion anticlockwise, while Potter, throwing out suggestions from time to time, scoured Borage for hints that Severus could have told him weren't there.

Slughorn went from table to table, his expression for the most part registering varying levels of dismay.

"Well, well," he kept saying in tones of doubtful reassurance, "there's no denying the Antisomnia Infusion is a difficult brew the first time around...."

And yet, though his and Lily's potion was perking along nicely, only three minutes short of completion when the teacher arrived at their table, Severus did not think Slughorn looked pleased with them.

Or rather with_ him._ Slughorn, of course, had words of praise for Lily Evans, though they weren't as effusive as usual.

"Lily, my dear," Slughorn said soberly, "this potion is perfect."

Lily beamed. There wasn't much she liked better than the praise teachers were always giving her. "Thank you, Professor. But it was Severus's idea, you know, to use the night-owl's eyes. And since he thought to add betony root instead of the leaves, we were able to skip practically an hour's worth of stirring and simmering."

"I know," said Slughorn. He sounded almost sad. He looked regretfully at Severus for a moment, then proceeded to Rosier's table.

There, tutting and fretting, he seemed himself again. "Oh, dear, the table's ruined, I'm afraid; there's no magic to repair the hole Mr Avery and Mr Wilkes made. Evan, why don't you add another dram of pomegranate juice to your potion; that should improve the odour, at least...."

"You were brilliant, Severus." Lily leaned back in her chair with her hands behind her head, looking the picture of relaxation. "We could take a nap for the next half-hour, and we'd still be on our way to full marks, how much do you want to bet?"

"We'll see," said Severus. Still, Lily had to be right. In spite of Slughorn's inexplicable displeasure, she had _better_ be right.

---

Lily read her Charms textbook while she waited for the rest of the class to finish their Antisomnia Infusions. Severus looked around the room for a while, enjoying the envy and discomfiture of those students who met his eyes. While Black industriously stirred their potion, Potter, Severus noted, spent a good deal of his time staring at Lily. His eyes were hard and the skin around his lips had a pinched, pale look.

Fortunately, she didn't notice. Or maybe it wasn't so fortunate, since there was no doubt she was in for it later from Potter.

"Time's up!" Professor Slughorn called. "Books closed and wands away! Douse the fires beneath your cauldrons. Take a sample of your potions and we'll test each one on an unconscious subject."

Everyone looked around uneasily, as if they wondered whom among them Slughorn intended to knock unconscious.

Slughorn laughed. "Don't worry! My owl is in my office. I'll bring him here. He's sleeping anyway. Let's have him sleep a little more deeply for us."

In a few minutes, Slughorn returned with a Ural owl perched on his wrist. He held it over his desk and waved his wand twice across its eyes. The owl blinked, then keeled over on to the desk top.

"There!" said Slughorn. "Hector is now in a magical sleep, which is a species of coma quite sufficient for the testing of our potions. He's not breathing, as you see, and is, in fact, practically in suspended animation." Slughorn looked around. "If he's not breathing, however, he's unable to swallow our potions. What do we do about that?"

Up went Lily Evans's hand.

"Miss Evans?"

"We cast a Carmenoris Charm on him, so that the muscles of his mouth and throat will work even though he's unconscious."

"Very good, very good! You'll learn that charm as a Healer, Lily, but as it can also be cast on conscious subjects against their will, you won't be learning it at Hogwarts. The use of Carmenoris is strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic. However, since we shan't be able to wake poor Hector without it--" here Slughorn waved his wand over his comatose owl. "There! Who would like to be the first to test his or her potion on Hector?" He didn't wait for a response before saying, "Miss Clearwater and Miss Aylsworth?"

Clearwater and Aylsworth had successfully brewed the Antisomnia Infusion from Borage's recipe, so Slughorn, Severus reasoned, wanted to use their potion to demonstrate the conventionally expected results. He watched with interest, since he'd never seen Mother give Borage's Infusion to Tobias.

Slughorn took Clearwater's phial, pried open Hector's beak and poured a few drops into the owl's mouth. A minute or so passed before Hector's eyes slowly opened. Slughorn helped the bird to a perch on his wrist, where it blinked in apparent befuddlement and uttered a couple of soft, drowsy hoots.

"Very good!" Slughorn said. "Full marks for Miss Aylsworth and Miss Clearwater!" He cast his owl back into a magical sleep and said, "Next?"

Lily raised her hand eagerly, but, for the very first time in Severus's memory, Slughorn overlooked her. He selected Lupin and Pettigrew instead, and, somewhat to Severus's surprise, their potion aroused Hector as effectively as Clearwater and Aylsworth's had done.

"Excellent, Mr Lupin, excellent!" said Slughorn, beaming with genuine pleasure. "That combination of cinnamon powder and extract of Kola saved the day for your potion. And, Mr Pettigrew, ten points to Gryffindor for having faith in your partner's idea and the presence of mind to follow his instructions to the letter! Full marks for both of you!"

Slughorn was unusually generous today, handing out high marks to everyone whose potion made the owl so much as flutter its eyelids. The only failures were Avery and Wilkes, and that was only because Slughorn, probably fearing their black sludge would kill Hector, refused to feed him their potion.

Stranger still was Slughorn's neglect of Lily Evans, who eventually gave up raising her hand. Severus's and Lily's potion was the very last to be tested, and most of the students were already packing their cauldrons and books into their bags when Slughorn administered two drops of their Antisomnia Infusion to Hector.

Hector swallowed the Infusion under the influence of Carmenoris. His chest heaved suddenly and his eyes popped open. He was lying flat as before, but this time Slughorn did not have to help him to a perch on his wrist. He lifted straight off from his back into full flight and began to swoop around the dungeon, whizzing at top speed over the heads of the students.

"Oy, look!" voices exclaimed in surprise. "Whose potion did _that?"_

"We're done, aren't we?" said Potter. "Professor Slughorn must have revived him."

"No, he didn't," said Lily, smiling triumphantly. "That's _our_ potion."

"Ah, yes," said Slughorn, watching in amazement as Hector circled the ceiling. "That's Miss Evans's and Mr. Snape's potion." Suddenly Hector zoomed straight for a window, which Slughorn opened with his wand just before the owl crashed into it head-first. Hector flew through the window and out of sight.

Slughorn stared after Hector. "He obviously has some energy he needs to work off," he said. He turned to Lily. "Well, Miss Evans. It looks as though your potion has earned you full marks. Along with--"

"Thank you, sir, but it was Severus's potion. I'd have just brewed the one in the book, and that's not the one that made Hector fly."

"I know, Lily," Slughorn said quietly. "Along with Mr Snape, as I was about to say. Full marks for both of you." He didn't look at Severus as he spoke, and turned quickly away when he was done.

"What's wrong with him?" Lily asked as she and Severus returned to their table to pack up their books and their potions kits.

"Wrong?" Severus asked bitterly, shoving his cauldron into his bag. "You think there's something wrong with being Slughorn's pet? That's a first."

"Now, just one minute--"

"Excuse me, everyone," Slughorn said in a loud voice. "Don't leave just yet! I'd like to ask a few people to stop by my office after lessons today. Mr Black, Mr Potter..."

Severus stopped and pricked up his ears. The annual Slug Club invitations.

Slughorn continued to reel off names. "Mr Rosier, Miss Aylsworth, Miss Evans and--" his eyes went to Lupin and lingered on him speculatively. Lupin looked back directly, though with a rather strange expression on his face.

"--Mr Lupin," Slughorn said. "That's all, then! Class dismissed!"

That was all, then. That was, as ever, all Severus could expect, after brewing the most effective Antisomnia Infusion he wagered Slughorn had ever seen. To be passed over for a shy, sickly creature like Lupin. To be swept out with the Averys and the Pettigrews, the failures and the dunces.

He crammed Borage, that book full of claptrap, into his bag and snapped it shut. He strode out of the classroom, shoving Wilkes out of his way.

"Oy, Snape, what's got into you now!" said Wilkes in an aggrieved voice.

Severus ignored him. And he ignored Lily, too, though she called his name a couple of times before he was halfway down the corridor and out of earshot.


	3. Chapter 3

ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY

September, 1979

It was a quiet evening in the Potions and Physics Department on the third floor of St. Mungo's Hospital, and Apothecary Severus Snape had learned to appreciate that rare event. He'd had only two calls from the wards thus far, so, wonder of wonders, he had been able to take a full hour for dinner.

Afterwards, he went to the brewing room behind the dispensary and set up a still and three cauldrons. As was so often the case these days, the department was short on painkillers, blood-replenishers and body-part regenerators. Other apothecaries complained about the daily chore of replacing them. But to Severus it was the most pleasant part of the job. He enjoyed the exacting preparation of the ingredients, the chopping, grinding and straining, the decocting and infusing. He liked listening to the gurgling hiss of the still and the bubbling of the cauldrons. Most of all, he liked it when the Emergency Floo was blessedly quiet, so that he could sit with a copy of _The Potioner's Periodical_ open on his knee while he monitored the brewing.

Severus was deep in an article by Dagworth-Granger on Freezing Charms for ashwinder eggs when he heard a _whoosh!_ in the fireplace behind him. It was followed by the familiar nasal tones of Harding, the clerk in Accident and Emergency: "Apothecary to A&E now, please."

Severus allowed himself a single groan of protest. Then he placed his potions in stasis, took the emergency kit from its hook by the fireplace and Flooed to Accident and Emergency. He emerged from the fireplace at the A&E reception desk. Harding, a stoop-shouldered wizard who looked as though he would have been more at home in a counting-house than a casualty department, waved him absently down the corridor. "Room Three."

"Who are the Healers on duty?" Severus asked.

Harding was scratching away with his quill over one of his endless forms. "Sage is the Healer-in-Charge," he answered without looking up. "Potter's the Trainee."

Healer Potter was how Severus unfailingly addressed her aloud. In his thoughts, she remained Lily.

Lily Potter and Galen Sage. At least they worked well together. For of course Lily was one of Sage's favourite Trainees, just as she had been the favourite of her teachers at Hogwarts.

Severus went down the corridor and opened the door to Room Three. A tense hum of activity issued forth. Inside with Sage and Lily were an Auror and Crandall and Everett, the two mediwizards who drove the St. Mungo's rescue coach. They surrounded the bed in the centre of the room.

On the bed lay a man. His eyes were shut, his face was grey and his jaw was rigid. His body shook rhythmically with convulsions. Blood spurted and flowed from gashes in his chest, abdomen and thighs.

Everett was cutting the injured man's robes away from his body. "He was bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the street when Crandall and me picked him up. Dark wizards, Auror Scrimgeour here says. They've cooked up some new devilry, then, 'cos I haven't seen the like of this before."

Sage stood at the head of the bed. In one slim, well-manicured hand, he held his wand pointed at the injured man's throat. In the other, he held a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"The patient's name?" Sage asked in his cool, cultivated voice.

"His _name_ is David Dawlish, and I'm not leaving him. He's my partner," Scrimgeour said. The gold-flecked eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were narrowed in determination, as if he were intent in carrying on an argument which had begun before Severus's arrival.

Sage did not look up from Dawlish's face. "I understood you the first time, Auror," he said, in the tone he usually reserved for slow-witted first-year Trainees. "What I want _you_ to understand is that I can do very little for your partner if you won't stay out of my way."

Sage might not be able to do much for Dawlish no matter where Scrimgeour stood, Severus thought. The skin around Dawlish's lips was beginning to turn blue. His blood had soaked the robes the mediwizard had cut away from his body and stained with scarlet the pristine white of the sheets beneath him.

With an exasperated sigh, but without taking his eyes off Dawlish, Scrimgeour retreated to a corner of the room.

"Where's that Apothecary I called for?" Sage said.

"Here," said Severus.

Sage looked up. "Ah, good, Severus, you're on," he said, his calm voice tinged with relief. "Have you got some Counter-Convulsant with you? I don't seem to be able keep Mr Dawlish's throat open long enough to get any Blood-Replenisher into him."

Severus dug a phial of Counter-Convulsant from his kit and handed it to Sage.

"Your formulation, I hope?" Sage asked as he tried both magically and physically to insert a dropper of Counter-Convulsant between Dawlish's clamped lips.

Severus looked at Dawlish uneasily. The blood continued to pour from his wounds with no sign of easing off. From his closer vantage point, Severus could see that the wounds were clean cuts slicing well into the muscle. Blood dripped from the saturated bed to the floor. Crandall Vanished it with a wave of his wand.

"Yes, I made it up last night," Severus answered Sage.

"Excellent. And some Sopping Solution, if you please, Severus," Sage continued. "And Comfrey Concoction, to close the wounds. And more Blood Replenisher; this is Casualty's last bottle of emergency stock, I'm afraid..."

Severus pulled the potions from his kit and passed them over.

"Thank you," said Sage. "Now then, Lily, if you'll apply some Sopping Solution to the wounds. Nice, thick cloths, that's the ticket. You're finished there, aren't you, Everett? Would you mind getting them for her?"

Everett hurried to a cupboard and returned with a small stack of linen cloths, which he gave to Lily.

"Why is he convulsing?" Severus asked.

"I don't know," Sage said quietly. "I might have expected it with head trauma, but Scrimgeour says he wasn't hit in the head." Finally he slipped the tip of the dropper between Dawlish's lips. "Ah, there we go. Now if I can just slide a couple of drops of Counter-Convulsant between his teeth...." He frowned in concentration while Lily poured Sopping Solution on the linen cloths and dabbed them around the edges of Dawlish's wounds. The potion-soaked cloths sucked in the spilled blood until they looked as though they couldn't absorb another drop. Then, destroyed by the potion, the blood disappeared. The cloths turned white again.

Now that Dawlish's wounds were clear of blood, Severus bent closer to look at them. They were deep, yet amazingly straight, like slashes made by a strong, sure swordsman seized by a cruelly violent rage, a killer for whom one deadly blow hadn't been enough....

Sage removed the potions dropper from between Dawlish's blue lips. "This isn't working. Lily, I need your help with the Carmenoris. Everett, take over for her, please. Spread some of Severus's Comfrey Concoction over the cuts."

Lily went to stand opposite Sage at the head of the bed. Everett applied Sopping Solution and Comfrey Concoction to Dawlish's gashes.

In spite of Everett's ministrations, blood continued to flow from Dawlish's wounds. Everett poured the last of the Sopping Solution onto his cloths and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin. "Give me some more," he said, sticking his hand out.

Severus gave him another bottle. There was something familiar about it all: Dawlish's tremors, growing feebler now, and the straight, slicing cuts that oozed even through the Comfrey Concoction ointment, as if the Dark spell were actively wringing the blood out of Dawlish's body.

"Say the incantation aloud if you have to, Lily." Sage's voice was extremely calm. Both his and Lily's wands were pointed at Dawlish's throat. The cords were tight in Dawlish's neck and his Adam's apple bobbed as if it were trying to escape through his skin. A film of sweat shone on his grey face. But his jaw was clenched and his mouth remained closed.

"We'll say it together," said Sage. "One, two, three..."

_"Carmenoris!"_ Sage and Lily said in unison.

Dawlish's jaw did not relax in the slightest, as far as Severus could tell. Sage tried to insert the dropper between Dawlish's lips without success. He looked up, his eyes rapidly flickering over Dawlish's wounds. The Comfrey Concoction had dissolved uselessly into the cuts, and they were bleeding freely again. Muttering an oath under his breath, Everett hurriedly applied more of the ointment.

"We'll try it again, Lily," Sage said. "We have to stop Mr Dawlish's seizures so that he can swallow the Blood-Replenisher Potion, because if we don't get it into him very soon, he's going to bleed to death."

"What's going on over there?" Scrimgeour said from his corner.

"I've had about enough of him," Everett muttered as he dabbed Comfrey Concoction on Dawlish's abdomen. "If he takes one step toward this bed, I'm Stunning him." Crandall gave a low, cynical laugh.

Sage and Lily spoke together: _"Carmenoris!"_

Finally something happened. Dawlish's convulsions deteriorated to irregular shudders. His mouth dropped open and, with a moist, rattling sound at the back of his throat, he breathed in once. Seconds passed before he breathed again, with the same rattling sound.

Sage swept his wand over Dawlish in the characteristic motion of an Examination Spell. He lowered his wand slightly, and fear and bafflement flitted through his eyes.

Sage's composure returned almost at once, but Lily had seen that moment of agitation just as surely as Severus had done. Her lower lip trembled. She bit down on it, hard and fast.

"I've run out of Comfrey Concoction," said Everett. Severus reached absently into his kit and, with only the briefest glance to identify it, handed Everett another pot of Comfrey Concoction. He looked back at Dawlish. He couldn't shake the feeling that, though no Healer had yet identified the spell which had felled Dawlish, he knew exactly what he was seeing.

"What's happening?" demanded Scrimgeour.

A flush of fury rose in Lily's cheeks. She whirled toward Scrimgeour. Sage's hand shot out, and he gripped her forearm hard.

"Healer Potter," Sage said in a clear, firm voice. Swallowing hard, Lily turned back to him.

"The Resuscitation Charm, Lily," Sage said, cool and quiet again. "Do you remember?"

Perhaps it was the untiring calm in Sage's voice, so like Albus Dumbledore as Severus remembered him. Perhaps it was simply the question Sage asked: _Do you remember_?

Yes. Severus remembered.

_For enemies._ His enemies. Sectumsempra.

Sectumsempra. A spell made of Severus's hate, the word by which he had learned to unmake flesh.

How could he have forgotten? Maybe the answer to that was too easy. He hadn't wanted to remember it. Not any of it.

Sage and Lily now had their wands pointed at Dawlish's chest. Though they were doing it nonverbally, Severus knew they were casting the Resuscitation Charm. He'd seen Healers do it often enough before, on other patients who were at the point of death.

"Healer Sage?" Severus said.

Sage did not look up. "Yes, what is it?"

"I can cast the counter-curse to this spell."

Sage looked up sharply.

How much did he know? Severus wondered, not for the first time. How could Dumbledore possibly have kept all the secrets he'd promised to keep?

"What do you mean, cast the counter-curse?" Lily said in a low but impatient voice. "You're no Healer. How can you know the counter-curse to a traumatic spell I've never seen before?"

Severus didn't answer. For a moment, there was no sound but that of Dawlish's irregular, faintly-rattling breaths.

Both Healers stared at him. "Not so fast, Lily," Sage said. "Why don't we let Apothecary Snape show us what he can do?"

What could she say, really? It was clear that the Healers' Resuscitation Charms weren't working. Dawlish was dying.

Lily looked from Severus to Sage. She looked down at Dawlish, whose struggles to draw breath were growing weaker by the moment. Then, slowly, she stepped back to make room for Severus. Sage did the same.

Severus came forward and positioned his wand over Dawlish's body. It took him only a moment to recall the murmuring song, like the sound of flowing water, which was the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. It had been three years since he had learned it, and he had cast it only once, but he hadn't forgotten it.

Severus began to sing softly. He could feel the magic spinning out like tendrils of spider's silk from his heart and brain, to its focusing-point in his wand. When he knew the magic was ready to flow from the tip of his wand, he began tracing it over the wounds in Dawlish's chest, abdomen and thighs. The muscles and fascia began knitting together, but blood still flowed, albeit more slowly, from the cuts.

Severus stuck his hand out without looking up from his work. "A cloth."

A cloth soaked with Sopping Solution was dropped into his palm, and he used it to staunch the flow of Dawlish's blood. Chanting softly, he passed his wand a couple more times over the wounds.

It should have been enough to close them, but it was not. Dawlish was breathing regularly again, however, and his convulsions had stopped. Still, through the murmurs of curiosity coming from the mediwizards and the renewed demands from Scrimgeour to know what was going on, Severus sensed that this Sectumsempra was even more vicious and deadly than the last one he had healed.

With renewed concentration, Severus passed his wand twice more over Dawlish's wounds. Finally the last of the bloody gaps in Dawlish's skin knitted up. Feeling a compulsion to be neat, Severus dabbed the last of the blood from Dawlish's skin. The Auror was still unconscious, but his face had turned from grey to white. His lips were very pale.

"He needs Blood-Replenisher," said Sage's quiet voice behind Severus. "If you could see to it, please, Lily?"

Finally Severus looked up. Sage looked as serene as ever. Lily stared at Severus, frowning slightly. Scrimgeour stood beside her. He looked from Severus to Dawlish and back again, with an indecipherable expression in his eyes.

"Certainly, Galen," Lily replied. She returned to Dawlish's side.

"What just happened here?" asked Scrimgeour.

"It's rather obvious, isn't it?" Sage said pleasantly. "We've been treating your friend."

"What do you mean, 'we?' You Healers hadn't a clue what to do with my partner. The Apothecary's the one who cured him."

"Well, he's hardly _cured_," said Sage. "He'll need to stay in hospital, for about a week, I should say. Have Mr Dawlish admitted to the fourth floor," he said to Lily. "Two drams of Blood-Replenisher every two hours through the night and an application of dittany ointment to his wounds every four hours."

Sage turned back to Scrimgeour. "I am having Auror Dawlish admitted to the Acute Spell Damage ward. Eugenia Wort, the Healer-in-Charge there, will take over his care." He extended his hand. "Very nice meeting you, Auror--"

"Just one moment," Scrimgeour interrupted. "This curse," he said with a tilt of his head toward Dawlish. "What's it called?"

"Healer Wort is our expert in Dark curses," Sage said. "Once she has examined Auror Dawlish, I'm sure she'll be able to tell us both something more. In the meantime, it's been very nice meeting you, Auror Scrimgeour."

Sage's hand was still extended. Reluctantly, Scrimgeour shook it.

"Very well, then," said Sage. "Lily, why don't you join me in the lounge for a cup of tea after you've sent Mr Dawlish upstairs? I'll have Harding notify us once Eugenia has seen him. I think it would be most instructive for us to confer with her once she's had a chance to examine Mr Dawlish, don't you agree?"

Lily's eyes went from Sage to Scrimgeour and Severus, then back again to Sage. "Yes, Galen," she said. "I certainly do."

And that was all. Without sparing a word or a glance for Severus, Healer Sage left the room.

---

Naturally tactful as well as obedient to the unspoken code of discretion at St. Mungo's, Lily also kept to herself whatever questions she may have had for Severus. She and the mediwizards were still busy preparing Dawlish to be Levitated to the fourth floor when Severus and Scrimgeour left Room Three.

Severus started back toward Harding's desk and the Floo hearth, only to find that somehow Scrimgeour had got in front of him and was blocking the way.

From his somewhat greater height, Scrimgeour looked at the staff name tag Severus wore. "Apothecary Snape, is it?"

"Severus Snape, yes."

"Well, Mr Snape. I'd like to thank you for saving Auror Dawlish's life."

"You're welcome." Severus moved to go around Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour moved with him. "Really," Severus said, "it was--"

"Don't say it was nothing. It was far from nothing."

"I need to get back to my department. I really don't have time to chat." Again Severus tried to get around Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour placed a lightly restraining hand on his arm. Severus froze.

"Neither do I," said Scrimgeour. "I'm speaking to you in an official capacity."

"An official capacity? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"I never said you did, now did I, Mr Snape?" Scrimgeour kept his hold on Severus's arm and led him down the corridor. Gritting his teeth to contain a sudden spurt of fury, Severus shook off Scrimgeour's hand. But he didn't dare turn and go in the opposite direction.

"All I want is to ask a few questions," Scrimgeour went on. Healers and mediwizards hurried past them, intent on their next tasks. "Somewhere quiet, where we shan't be in anyone's way. There's a meditation room down the hall near the lobby, isn't there? I've been there a few times in the past year, to speak to the families of murder and torture victims." Scrimgeour spoke the last in no less conversational a tone than he'd said the rest.

As Scrimgeour had made it clear he knew his way about, Severus didn't feel the need to reply.

"Ah, here we are," said Scrimgeour.

The sign beside the door to the meditation room said _Not in_ _Use_. Nevertheless, Scrimgeour, surprisingly, had the courtesy to knock before opening the door and beckoning Severus inside.

There were a couple of soft armchairs before the hearth and two more facing a window which looked out over the cobbled walks and raised beds of the hospital's physic garden, now bathed in moonlight. But neither Scrimgeour nor Severus took a seat.

Scrimgeour broke the silence. "I'm afraid you're going to think I'm ungrateful. So I want to thank you once again for saving Dawlish's life."

"Again, you're welcome," Severus said, watching him cautiously.

"I'm still wondering how you did it."

"I cast a counter-curse."

"I'd gathered that." Scrimgeour waited, clearly expecting Severus to say more. When he didn't, Scrimgeour said, "Don't you know why I ask?"

"I suppose because I'm not a Healer."

"Well, there's that," Scrimgeour agreed. "If you were a Healer, you'd know you can't learn to counter a morbid or traumatic curse without learning the curse itself."

"What do you mean?"

Severus had waited too long to ask, but did it matter? Scrimgeour wasn't trying to hide his suspicion.

Scrimgeour tilted his head, as if he wanted to get a better look at Severus. "I mean that the curse you cured was one with which a Death Eater tried to murder David Dawlish."

"A Death Eater?" Severus said. "You told the mediwizards you were attacked by Dark Wizards."

"Death Eaters, Dark wizards." Scrimgeour waved his hand dismissively. "What's the difference nowadays?"

Severus said nothing.

"So, as I was saying," Scrimgeour went on. "I've never seen this curse before. I've never heard anyone in the Auror Office describe anything like it. The Healer-in-Charge of the Casualty Department didn't seem to know what to do with a patient who had been struck with it. Yet here you are, not a Healer, not an Auror, but an Apothecary, and a fairly young one at that, countering a curse so deadly it would have killed my partner if you hadn't stepped in."

"As I've said, Auror Scrimgeour, you're welcome," said Severus.

Scrimgeour smiled thinly. "As I've said, I'm grateful. As I've also said--or maybe I haven't yet, in so many words?--I want to know the name and incantation of the spell that Death Eater cast on Dawlish, and I want to know where and how you learned it."

Severus hesitated. He could not think of a safe answer.

"No embellishment," Scrimgeour said. "Just the truth."

"Sectumsempra," Severus said.

"Is that the name or the incantation?"

"They're the same."

"Sectumsempra," Scrimgeour repeated. "And where did you learn it?"

"At Hogwarts."

"At Hogwarts." Scrimgeour folded his arms, walked to the window and looked out into the moonlit garden. "It's true I left Hogwarts before Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster. But somehow I can't imagine him allowing even the mention of a spell like Sectumsempra in the curriculum, any more than Dippet would have done."

"I didn't say I'd learned it in a classroom."

Scrimgeour turned back from the window. "No, you didn't. What House were you in?"

This time Severus didn't hesitate, for his reply was easy enough to check. "Slytherin."

"Of course. Slytherin," Scrimgeour said. "You never mentioned it while you were working in Azkaban; at least, no one's told me you did. But you must have known Olaus Ruskin in school. You look about his age."

So that was where Scrimgeour was headed: straight to the debacle in Azkaban. "Are you _sure_ no one's told you?" asked Severus. "Not Reid? Nor Potter? Or perhaps you're a Legilimens."

"Reid's not talking. On the advice of higher-ups, I've the strongest feeling. And Potter hasn't spoken to anyone in the Auror Office since Reid threw him and you off the Azkaban project. He's quit the Aurors; did you know that?"

Potter would live on his father's money. He had admitted as much to Severus. "I knew it," said Severus.

"Well, well, nobody's denying Reid overreached himself, least of all Barty Crouch," Scrimgeour said. "Law Enforcement aren't going to use the Dementors on interrogations any longer. Crouch has ordered them all to be put back on guard duty. Too late for Ruskin, of course." Scrimgeour paused. "I suppose it was difficult for you to see a Dementor Kiss your friend."

"I suppose it's difficult for you to care," Severus retorted coldly.

"Actually, it is," said Scrimgeour. "Given what I've seen Death Eaters do to their victims. Was it Ruskin who taught you Sectumsempra?"

"No. I just picked it up."

"While you were a student at Hogwarts."

"Yes. It wasn't such a vicious spell in those days. And I never cast it," he added quickly. "I only used it to learn the counter, in case someone cast it on me or my friends."

"No one's accused you of casting it," Scrimgeour said. "I'm only wondering why you won't tell the truth about how you learned it."

A panicked fury rose up in Severus. "How do you know I'm not telling the truth!" he spat.

"I also wonder whether you're a Death Eater," Scrimgeour mused, acting as though he hadn't heard. "I'd ask you to show me your left arm, but You-Know-Who--or maybe you don't mind if I say Voldemort?--has lately devised an Invisibility Charm for the Dark Mark that Law Enforcement's most sophisticated Revelation Spells haven't been able to crack."

"You're all alike, aren't you?" Severus asked softly. "You. Reid. Crouch. The Dark Lord's the best thing that ever happened to you lot. You get to bully the kind of people you've always envied, like Ruskin, and nobody dares to call you on it, for fear they'll be the next one thrown into Azkaban without a trial, the next one who dies from one of those Unforgivable Curses that are illegal for everyone else but you."

"The Dark Lord, is it?" Moving as gracefully and silently as a cat, Scrimgeour came closer to Severus. "I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that." He studied Severus's face. "Who taught you Sectumsempra?"

Severus stared at Scrimgeour, unable to drag his eyes away. He felt a brief pulse of pain in his forehead. Then suddenly the sight of his mother rose before him, blocking his view of Scrimgeour. She was seated at the kitchen table at home, leaning on her folded arms and staring at the table top.

With that coerced vision came a sense of violation which made Severus's heart pound with primitive terror. He gasped, and magic burst out of him, magic born of an instinct to repel the attack, repulse the invader--

_"Protego!"_ Severus yelled.

There was a crash. Severus's vision cleared, and he saw Scrimgeour next to one of the armchairs by the window. Auror and chair both were lying on the floor.

"You used Legilimency on me!" Severus shouted. "You never warned me, and I'm not under arrest; I _can't_ be under arrest, for _I've done nothing wrong!_ You had no right!"

Scrimgeour got up and, wincing a bit, brushed off his robes. "You have one powerful Shield Charm."

"It's your own fault! You didn't tell me you were going to use Legilimency on me! I ought to report--"

"Oh, calm down!" Scrimgeour interrupted him impatiently. "And stop nattering about your rights. No one's hurt you. We're at war, Mr Snape. How long do you think I'd live if I warned every Dark wizard I talked to that I was about to use Legilimency on him?"

"I'm not a Dark wizard! And you're supposed to warn _everyone_ in advance! That's the law!"

"You're an Apothecary, a Healer, and you know enough law to be sitting on the Wizengamot!" Scrimgeour said with a contemptuous laugh. "You're a regular jack-of-all-trades, aren't you?"

Just then the door burst open and, wands drawn, Lily and Sage rushed in. When they saw Severus and Scrimgeour, they lowered their wands slightly.

"We heard a crash and people shouting," Lily said, looking uncertain.

"Is everything all right, Auror?" asked Sage.

"Everything's fine," Scrimgeour said easily. "I was just looking for some information from Mr Snape. I'd forgotten he was rather new to St. Mungo's. He's not used to dealing with Aurors yet, I reckon."

Sage looked at Severus. "Apothecary Snape. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Healer. Everything's fine."

Sage waited, but Severus certainly wasn't about to say any more. And Scrimgeour also kept silent.

"Then I'll thank you both to keep it down," Sage said coldly.

"My apologies," Scrimgeour said. "Mr Snape and I are through with each other. We won't make any more trouble."

Severus, still infuriated, bit his lip and said nothing. When he saw Lily looking at him with a puzzled frown, he dropped his eyes.

"See that you don't," Sage said. Then he and Lily left.

Severus was following them when once again he felt Scrimgeour's hand on his arm. Whirling around, he once again shook it off.

"Settle down, Apothecary Snape," Scrimgeour said. "I just have one more question."

"What's that!" Severus snapped.

"You're not going on holiday any time soon, are you?"

"Holiday? No."

"Good, because I may be coming round again." Scrimgeour grinned at him. "But don't worry. Next time I'll warn you in advance."

Severus left the meditation room. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep from slamming the door in Scrimgeour's face.

Head down, hands jammed in his pockets, Severus strode down the corridor toward the Floo hearth. No good deed went unpunished, did it? If Lucius Malfoy hadn't stepped in, Reid might well have had Severus behind bars in Azkaban for refusing to give Ruskin the Defences-Downdraught. Now here was another lackey from Law Enforcement, Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, showing his "gratitude" to Severus for saving the life of his friend.

He should have let Dawlish die. The thought ran over and over in Severus's head, until he stepped into the Floo hearth and was spinning in the emerald flames. He would be safe now; Scrimgeour would have suspected nothing, if he had just let Dawlish die.


	4. Chapter 4

THE SLYTHERIN COMMON ROOM

September, 1975

One week after he'd been passed over for the Slug Club, Severus noticed its Slytherin members--Olaus Ruskin, Spencer Travers, and now Evan Rosier--were absent from the House common room.

It was an hour after dinner. Seated at a writing table, Severus was working on a two-foot essay assigned by Professor Bones, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Regulus Black, at a separate table, also scratched away at a parchment. Everyone else lounged before the fire, talking or reading. Everyone else but Ruskin, Travers and Rosier.

It didn't mean that they were in Professor Slughorn's office right now, enjoying his attention, eliciting his praise and hearing his gossip about the rich and famous. With Ruskin in the lead as he always was, they could have been anywhere in the castle, including the places they didn't belong after dark. Ruskin knew Hogwarts every bit as well as Potter and his gang did.

Ruskin, Travers and Rosier didn't have to be at a meeting of the Slug Club. But Severus expected that was where they were, even though, since he wasn't a member, no one ever told him the meeting times. He kept track of that sort of thing on his own.

It was now eight o'clock on Thursday evening. Professor Slughorn didn't keep office hours on Thursday. So why wouldn't the three Slytherin members of the Slug Club be at a meeting of the Club?

Severus returned to his essay. He was answering Bones's question about the use of the Shield Charm against disabling hexes when the common room door opened and Ruskin, Travers and Rosier came in.

Severus's eyes were drawn to Olaus Ruskin, Head Boy, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and the cleverest student in seventh year. Tall and long-limbed, Ruskin moved as though gravity could hardly hold him to the ground. His painfully bright strawberry-blond hair lit the dungeon like a torch and his eyes were the colour of the Hogwarts lake on a summer day. Travers was handsome too, in his dark way, as was Rosier, with his sandy hair, light-grey eyes and aristocratic bearing. But neither of them shone as Ruskin did. He was the brightest star in any constellation.

"Oh, Wilkes, Lestrange, there you are!" Ruskin flopped into a chair between Douglas Wilkes and Rabastan Lestrange. "Rosier!" He beckoned to Evan, who came and sat on the hearthrug in front of the other three boys. "Quidditch practice tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock sharp; we've got the match with Gryffindor on Saturday, and I want everyone on form. Wilkes, I want to see some better Keeping this year. Don't let Potter score so many goals. And Rosier, don't let Longbottom near that Snitch. Catch it early if you can...." They put their heads together, talking match strategy, and their voices sank to low murmurs.

Severus was about to resume writing when he saw Regulus Black staring at Ruskin and his team mates. It occurred to Severus that Sirius was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team while Regulus had failed to make the Slytherin team. Now Sirius had been tapped for the Slug Club while Regulus, so far, was left out.

Severus looked away. He dipped his quill into his inkpot and returned to work.

_The wizard must be certain of the spell being cast at him, so that he can calibrate his Shield Charm to produce the proper response. For example, not even the second-level Charm will be enough to block the pain caused by any of the curses, such as Cruciatus, which are to be found in the class of Agony-Inflictors._

His concentration was interrupted by Ruskin's peal of laughter. "Well, Rabby, I'm sorry to delay your beauty sleep, but it's not my fault Sluggy kept us so late!"

"I'm not tired!" said Lestrange.

"I bored you, then, with my dull Quidditch talk? Is that why you were yawning?"

"I've got homework to do--"

"Oh, never mind. I'm finished, anyway. Just as long as you remember to keep heaving those Bludgers at Black on Saturday. So, Evan," Ruskin said, turning his attention to Rosier, "how did you like it?"

"Like what?" Evan asked coolly.

Ruskin laughed again. "You make me sound like a dirty old man. The Slug Club, of course."

"Sluggy's the dirty old man," Spencer Travers put in. "Did you see him around Evans?"

Vera Vaisey came to sit beside Rosier. "That filthy little Mudblood! What does Slughorn see in _her_?"

"Why, Vera, such language! I'm surprised at you!" Ruskin said. "Don't you know Lily Evans is exactly Horace Slughorn's type? Pretty, clever--_very _clever; isn't she in competition with Potter and Black for first in their year? And feisty. That sounds like the sort of word Slughorn would use, doesn't it? Yes, feisty. Why, she even--" Ruskin broke off. He twisted round in his seat to look at Severus. "Severus! Why are you off in a corner moping? Come over here and talk to us!"

"I'm doing my homework," said Severus.

"Well, take a break, then! If I know you, you've been at it since dinner-time. Haven't you? Come on!" Ruskin waved Severus over without waiting for an answer.

Ruskin assumed Severus was among those who could refuse him nothing. He was right, of course. Severus blotted his parchment, rolled it up tightly and went to sit at one end of the group before the fireplace, next to Lestrange. By the soft scraping of the chair at the other table and the sound of footsteps behind him, he knew that Regulus Black followed him. But Regulus did not sit with the rest. He remained standing off to one side, in the shadows.

"As I was saying," Ruskin went on, "Lily Evans wasn't in Slughorn's office fifteen minutes before she was telling him whom to recruit to his club."

"Isn't that just like her!" said Vera.

"Yes, she seems to be a bossy little chit," Ruskin agreed.

"Who did she work him for?" asked Lestrange. "One of her Gryffindor girlfriends?"

Rosier snorted with laughter. Perhaps he, like Severus, was picturing Lily beating Slughorn at his own game.

"Erm, hardly," said Ruskin. He bent forward a bit and looked past Lestrange at Severus. "Evans thinks Slughorn ought to invite _you_ into his little salon, Severus."

"Me?" said Severus.

"Yes, you. She was on about this potion you and she made in Slughorn's class last week; what was it again?"

"Oh, who cares about Evans!" Vera said. "Who else was there?"

Ruskin took the interruption equably. "Well, Spencer and I, of course, but we've been there. I suppose you want to hear about the new people. There's Evan. _He_ was there."

"I know that, and I know why he was there. He's brilliant," Vera said. Severus hadn't thought she could lean any closer to Rosier, but somehow she managed it.

Rosier took the fawning as no more than his due. But Travers said, "I don't suppose it hurts that Evan's father is Head of the Wizengamot Administrative Services. My dad says nobody gets on the Wizengamot unless Oswald Rosier vets him first."

"Oh, is that so?" said Lestrange. "I didn't know that was part of the job. What do you say, Evan?"

Vera's head was now on Rosier's shoulder and he was idly stroking her hair. "You'll have to ask Dad," he said. "If you ever want to be on the Wizengamot."

"Dull stuff, the Wizengamot," Ruskin said. "You haven't the attention span for it, Rabastan." Everyone but Severus and Regulus laughed.

"Let's see. Who else did Sluggy choose to bask in his favour?" Ruskin continued. "There's that Hufflepuff girl. Hildy Baumgartner. But she's an obvious choice. They say her mother's one of the brightest witches in Europe."

"Sluggy says so, anyway," said Travers.

"Well, I trust him to be right about that," said Ruskin. "He knows a lot more about people's reputations than I do. Madame Baumgartner's Head of the Dark Force Defence League and an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. Hildy says she's doing research there, parsing the magic of the Unforgivable Curses. You have to have a few brains for that, don't you? Besides, Hildy's no slouch, either. She got five Outstandings on her O.W.L.s. She's well on her way to getting onto the Auror training programme, which is exactly where she wants to be. Oh, and there's Sirius Black."

Wilkes snorted. "No wonder there. He's a Black. What more does it take?" He didn't seem to notice Regulus stepping half out of the shadows at the sound of his brother's name.

"Well, let's see," Ruskin said. "Good looks, charisma, brilliance--"

"Brilliance!" Rosier burst out, as if that were the final straw.

"Yes. Give Sirius his due. He's brilliant. He's also a stupid prat who loathes the origins that have given him everything he's got. Funny how Sluggy doesn't seem to have sussed that Sirius hates being a Black. But he does hate it. Doesn't he, Regulus?" Ruskin leaned forward and looked Regulus full in the face, as if to tell him he needn't bother trying to be so inconspicuous.

"There's nothing he hates more," Regulus said.

"Thought so," said Ruskin, leaning back. He stared into the flames for a moment, then said, "Lupin, now. That Gryffindor prefect. Can't work out what Slughorn saw in him."

Neither could Severus. But he hadn't forgotten the cool, speculative glance Slughorn had given Lupin before calling his name.

"Potter's another story, though," Ruskin went on. "He's everything Sluggy wants to be, but isn't." He ticked James Potter's virtues off on his fingers. "Scion of a filthy rich, top-drawer pure-blood family with all the best connections. He's popular, he's mischievous, he's good-looking. The girls love him. Yes, you, too, Vera, I've seen you looking at him!"

"Hmph!" said Vera. But at least she knew better than to deny it outright.

"Captain of his House Quidditch team and cleverest in his year. All this without looking as though he works at any of it!"

Ruskin might have been speaking about himself, Severus thought.

"Sluggy's such a climber," Ruskin said. "A _parvenu_, my Mum calls him. That's what his worship of James Potter is all about, that and mistaking bullying, hexing and talking out of turn in class for wit. Sluggy likes to name-drop, you know, and you can't drop a better name than Potter."

That wasn't the whole story, Severus thought. "Slughorn's interested in more than name-dropping," he said. "Otherwise, he'd never have chosen Lupin and Lily Evans."

"True. So why were you passed over again? I might have said it was because you're not a cute redhead, if he hadn't tapped Lupin too. Especially after I heard Evans tell that story of the potion you and she made together."

"What potion?" Regulus asked.

Ruskin repeated the story of the Antisomnia Infusion as Lily had given it to the Slug Club.

"I liked how Slughorn sat back and let Evans make a fool of him," said Rosier. "She as much as said that Severus knew better than Slughorn how to make the Antisomnia Infusion."

"It's the truth," said Severus. "I do know better."

"That's what it sounded like to me," said Ruskin. "But Slughorn didn't let it go. 'Now, Lily, of course you're right to give proper credit to your partner, but, you know, you're just as good as Severus is in Potions, if not better.'"

Ruskin's imitation of Slughorn was so accurate that even Severus smiled at it. Everyone else laughed.

"He wasn't about to let us go on thinking Severus had done anything so very wonderful. He didn't change Lily Evans's mind, though. She'd like to be friends again, I think, Severus. You've quite captivated her."

Ruskin's tone of amused contempt suggested he thought exactly the opposite. It was another one of his casual insults, which, if he was aware he'd made it at all, he would forget in another moment. Knowing that did not stop the resentment from burning in Severus's gut. He made sure, however, to keep it from his expression.

"Of course, _we've_ always appreciated you," Ruskin said. "You're the best spell-maker in school."

Rosier spoke up with rare enthusiasm. "Yeah, what about that Tongue-Gluing Curse of yours? It shuts Potter and Black right up! And that Toenail-Growing Hex!"

Wilkes laughed. "Oh, I love that one! The referees are always trying to call a foul against Slytherin when the other team's toenails start splitting their shoe leather. But they can't make the penalty stick because they never catch one of us casting the spell!"

"Severus has been casting that one since second year," said Lestrange. "When are the idiots going to work out that the spell comes from the Slytherin stands, not the Slytherin team?"

"When they're fast enough to intercept it before it hits its mark. Which hasn't happened yet," said Severus.

"No, not in three years! Really, you're incredible, Severus!" Ruskin said.

His tone was sincere and his gaze admiring. At least, Severus saw no reason to think otherwise, for where was the profit to Ruskin in heaping praise on an ugly half-blood?

"And Muffliato," Travers said. "I like that one for when we're in the Great Hall, talking about something we don't need the whole school to know about." He laughed suddenly. "Hey, Rabastan, remember when we cast it around ourselves in the library last year, when that nosy little butterball of a git Pettigrew was lurking about? He kept waving his hands around his head like he was trying to bat away a bumblebee, until he ended up boxing his own ears!"

Severus smiled. He had dismissed all dreams of playing Quidditch after his humiliating failure at tryouts in second year. Dumbledore and Slughorn between them would see to it that he'd never make prefect or Head Boy. It didn't matter. In his own way, he had brought glory to Slytherin House.

Lestrange laughed at Travers's tale. "That Muffliato's a handy spell," he said to Severus. "It's a good job you've kept that one quiet. Too bad you couldn't have done the same with Levicorpus. The minute Potter learned how to cast it, it was all over the school." Lestrange sighed regretfully at the loss of one of Slytherin House's proprietary spells.

"It's not necessarily Severus's fault," Ruskin pointed out. "Anybody could have let the incantation slip. Or maybe Potter invented it independently. He knows the counter-curse, after all, and we don't."

Ruskin was wrong for once. It probably was Severus's fault. He'd yelled the incantation at Potter and his gang several times in rage. He wasn't about to admit it, though. Instead, he said, "I've got the counter-spell now too. I worked it out over the summer."

"Levicorpus is a good one," Regulus said. He pulled a chair next to Severus and sat down. "But you know what my favourite one of Severus's spells is? The Breath-taker."

Ruskin looked at Regulus Black as if he were seeing him for the first time. "Yes," he said. "It's also Severus's most dangerous spell."

Perhaps it was, Severus thought. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. The counter-curse to Levicorpus wasn't the only thing he'd worked on over the summer.

Ruskin pointed his wand toward the fire. _"Exanimo!"_ he said softly. A purple flame shimmered forth from the tip of his wand.

"Be careful!" Severus said sharply.

Ruskin looked at him with raised eyebrows. Severus had never spoken like that to him before. But he answered mildly enough. "It's all right, Severus. The flames will dissipate the spell." He smiled at the fire. "You know, it _does_ take a certain amount of what Dumbledore calls Dark intent to cast this spell."

Severus knew exactly what Ruskin and Dumbledore meant.

"Which means," Ruskin continued, "that the Breath-taker is not the sort of spell they teach you at Hogwarts. Keep that in mind, Severus, when you get to be a professor here!"

Everyone laughed. "Why should I want to be a professor?" Severus asked irritably.

Ruskin shrugged. "It's a decent living."

A decent living: a steady income, a reasonable retirement pension, a modicum of respect from what Ruskin's class called the petite bourgeoisie. The pinnacle of what a half-blood charity boy ought to aspire to.

"You take it the wrong way, Severus," Rosier said. "_We_ like your spells, even the ones with a touch of the Dark about them."

"Maybe especially the ones with a touch of the Dark about them," said Lestrange.

"That's right," said Rosier. "But in a school where Albus Dumbledore's the Headmaster and Horace Slughorn's nothing more than his lickspittle, you don't want to get a reputation for excelling in anything but the Lightest magic."

"Oh, is that so? What about James Potter?" Severus spat it out before he could stop himself. "He hexes anybody he pleases, just because he feels like it; he's said so himself! I don't see where it's hindered him!"

Ruskin looked at him pityingly. "You need to understand something, Severus. James Potter is different from you."

"Yeah," said Wilkes. "For one thing, he knows better than to show up the Potions Master on the first day of lessons. No wonder Slughorn doesn't want you in his club."

"I don't need that fat, self-indulgent fool or his circle of--!" Severus had nearly said _spoiled brats_, but he'd stopped himself just in time.

A genial smile spread across Ruskin's face, one that clearly said he'd completed Severus's sentence in his mind, but that he needn't take offence at the spewing of someone as insignificant as Severus Snape. "Maybe you don't need him," he said in the smoothing-ruffled-feathers tone which had settled many a squabble in Slytherin House. "But the kind of friends who can by won by flattery, Slughorn's got everywhere: the Ministry, the professions, business, nearly every pure-blood family. I know _I've_ made use of the time I've spent sitting at Horace Slughorn's knee. He's already said he'll help me get a nice little sinecure in the Ministry. Nothing too strenuous, I said, something in Magical Games and Sports, maybe, and Sluggy promised to deliver. He said he likes my Quidditch form."

Ruskin paused, as if savouring his latest coup. "See, the thing is, I've got better things to do with my time than work," he concluded.

In Severus's opinion, Ruskin couldn't have spoken a truer word about himself. Why waste time working when you knew you'd never have to? Still, Ruskin's was an offhand remark, hardly worth the strangely intent, even tense looks that Lestrange and Rosier gave him.

Then Rosier slowly smiled and Lestrange said quietly, "You sound like Lucius, Olaus."

"He and I share the same opinions on a lot of things." Suddenly Ruskin changed the subject. "Look here, Rabastan, about that Double-Backed Quaffle Manoeuvre. Work on it with Travers. He needs to cover you from the other team's Bludgers when you pull the Manoeuvre during a match. In fact, we'll all work on it at practice tomorrow. Wilkes, you...."

Ruskin turned away to huddle with the Quidditch team. Rosier released Vera without a word or a second glance and joined his team mates.

After staring in dismay for a moment at Rosier's back, Vera left the room.

Severus returned to the table where his two feet of parchment still lay waiting to be filled.

_Though they are not characterised by any visible manifestations, such as flame shooting from the tip of the caster's wand, the Agony-Inflictors tend in general to be susceptible to the workings of Revelatory Charms...._

"So, Severus," said a soft voice.

Severus looked up from his writing to see Regulus standing beside his table.

"What do you think Ruskin was on about?" Regulus asked in the same low voice.

"Quidditch," Severus said in a normal tone.

"I mean, the working part," Regulus said. "What's he got waiting for him that's so much better than work?"

This was Sirius Black's brother. Didn't he know by now that Severus was left out of not only Quidditch but everything else? "Why don't you ask him?" said Severus irritably.

"Oh," said Regulus. "I thought you knew, that's all."

"I don't know, but I can guess. Quidditch playing, partying and picking up girls. It's what I'd do in his place." Severus gestured toward his parchment. "Look, do you mind? I've got an essay to finish."

Regulus's look turned supercilious. It became an expression which said Severus Snape did not now and could not ever make the grade.

"Oh, sure," Regulus said, drifting off to his own table.

Severus renewed his attack on his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

_There is no time for casting Revelatory Charms in the heat of battle, however. It is better for the wizard to know the Agony Inflictors by magical sight, so that he has the time to cast a properly-calibrated Shield Charm before being disabled by his opponent's curse. In actual practice, of course, few witches and wizards outside of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have that kind of aptitude and training.... _


	5. Chapter 5

HOME AGAIN

September, 1979

Severus stepped out of the fireplace into the Potions and Physics Department. He brushed his robes off, took his potions out of stasis and resumed the evening's brewing. Determined to force the incident with Scrimgeour out of his mind, he opened his copy of _The Potioner's Periodical_ and buried himself in another article.

He was interrupted again a few times to make stat deliveries of potions to the wards, but at nine o'clock the brewing was done and he was able to stock the dispensary for the next day.

Next came the routine deliveries of ordered potions for the wards. As usual, the Acute Spell Damage Ward had the most urgent orders, so Severus stocked that trolley first.

The trolley was far too bulky to take into the Floo, and Resizing charms could not be cast on a collection of such delicate potions. So Severus put the list of orders in his pocket and pushing the trolley out into the corridor headed for the Rising Ramps at the rear of the hospital.

The Ramps, sturdy wooden boards which looked rather like flat, handle-less doors, were lined up neatly next to a large overhead door at the end of the corridor. Severus pushed the trolley on to the nearest Rising Ramp and said, "Fourth floor."

Creaking in protest, the door rolled upward to reveal a small vestibule, the further end of which opened into a huge hollow shaft. A draught of cold, stale air billowed from the passageway into Severus's face. His Rising Ramp slid through the vestibule into the shaft. Looking down, Severus had a glimpse of dizzying depths that plunged into darkness before they reached the bottom of the shaft, in the hospital sub-basement.

The Rising Ramp began spiralling upward, like a paper aeroplane on an up-draught. Presently, glowing softly as if it were painted in light, the number "4" appeared on the hospital wall, over the opening into the fourth-floor passageway.

Severus guided his Rising Ramp through the opening. It glided into the vestibule and landed gently on the floor. The overhead door opened and he pushed his trolley of potions into the fourth-floor corridor.

This was the staff and utility corridor, which passed the rear entrances to the wards. With trolley wheels squeaking and potions bottles clinking, Severus trundled up to a door labelled:

_The Inigo Braithwaite Acute Spell Damage Ward. To gain admittance, please present your wand to the Seeing Eye._

Severus lifted his wand before a peephole in the door.

With a strange writhing, the peephole changed to an eyelid. The eyelid popped open to reveal a bulging, bloodshot eye, which stared first at Severus's wand and then into his face. The eye blinked once. Then it closed, and the lid re-formed into a peephole.

After that, the door should have opened on its own to permit Severus into the ward. Instead, someone inside the ward pushed it open.

It was Lily Potter. "Oh, Severus!" she said, looking surprised. But instead of letting him into the ward, she came out into the corridor and closed the door. "Galen just left. He's spoken with Eugenia Wort. She says Dawlish is doing quite well, considering."

"I'm glad to hear it," Severus said.

Lily glanced up and down the hallway. Then she said, "Is Scrimgeour gone?"

"Of course he's gone," Severus said. "Why shouldn't he be?"

"Well, I mean...." Lily paused. "He's an Auror, and you knocked him to the ground. He's not going to arrest you or anything, is he?"

"Do I look arrested?" said Severus.

"Not yet. Look," she said, lowering her voice. "I don't believe a word Scrimgeour said. He was doing more than asking you questions. Galen and I heard you yell _'Protego!' _You don't cast a Shield Charm to protect yourself from a few questions."

What business was it of hers? Why couldn't she leave him in peace? Not sure he could reply civilly, Severus said nothing.

But nothing wasn't enough of a hint. "I think Galen's wondering too. Of course, he's too tactful to say so." Lily paused. "If you're being harassed for some reason.... Look, James isn't in the Auror programme any longer, but Alastor Moody used to like him. If you want him to put in a word--"

"I don't need your husband's help, Mrs Potter," Severus said. "Or yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have potions to deliver."

Lily stared at him. "Oh. Right," she said, her tone noticeably cooler. She stepped aside. "Sorry to trouble you."

Severus didn't reply. He pushed his trolley through the door and behind the clerk's desk to the potions cupboard.

After he had restocked the patients' potions, slowly and methodically, without once turning to see if Lily was still watching him, Severus spun his empty trolley back toward the door. As he did so, he saw the ward's Healer-in-Charge, Eugenia Wort, emerge from a patient's room.

Healer Wort caught sight of Severus. Stopping mid-stride, she seemed to be about to speak to him when a Trainee rushed up to her, saying something about the patient in Room Ten whose eyes had dropped out of their sockets again.

Severus took the opportunity to make his escape. He felt a great relief when the door to Acute Spell Damage swung shut behind him.

---

It was an even greater relief, after making his deliveries, for Severus to return to the peace of the brewing room. Too many Healers and clerks in too many of the wards had looked at Severus very oddly. He had no doubt that, by now, the entire hospital had heard the story of the Apothecary who had cured the curse which had stumped Galen Sage.

If Severus was relieved to get back to the brewing room, he should have been downright happy when Bermsley, the night-shift Apothecary, arrived, and he was able to go home.

But he wasn't particularly eager to go home. He liked the brewing room better. The brewing room was a place of order, routine and occasionally, as tonight, a place of peace. His home, at present, was none of those things.

---

Home Severus went nevertheless, to the old-fashioned terraced house he rented south of the river. "Period property!" the advert in the _Daily Prophet_ had trumpeted, which meant that nobody had bothered to repair the leaky sash windows or polish the worn wooden floors. But the terrace, a little pocket of the wizarding world in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood, gave Severus the privacy he wanted, away from the prying eyes of Diagon Alley and the ever-present dangers of Knockturn Alley.

And the extra bedroom gave Severus's mother a bit of space she could call her own.

Severus had had a nicer flat, a one-bedroom place much closer to a public Floo stop. But that was before his mother had left the house in Spinner's End and come to stay with him. Before he had come to realise that she wasn't going back any time soon; that, indeed (temporarily, he kept telling himself), she was incapable of living on her own.

The Floo stop Severus used now, which was hidden by magic inside an abandoned warehouse, was about half a mile from his house. In all but the wildest weather, he enjoyed the walk, especially the walk which brought him home at night.

As a wizard with a wand, Severus didn't need to fear Muggle criminals. The relative silence, the darkness pierced only by the light of the streetlamps gave him a chance to settle his mind from the harassments of work and prepare himself for home.

For a while after Severus had left his Apothecary's apprenticeship and taken the job at St. Mungo's, home hadn't been a place to dread. He had looked purposely for a place which was the opposite of the grime and neglect of Spinner's End, far from that broken-cobbled street redolent of the filthy river nearby. He had found it in the spare, sparkling-clean flat in a mansion block gleaming with fresh varnish and new paint.

Severus's mother had never been one for housekeeping, and his father's anger, like all his other moods, had been too intermittent and unpredictable to effect a change in her increasingly untidy habits. But while he had been apprenticed to Melusine Morgan, Head Apothecary at St. Mungo's, Severus had absorbed her habits of order, exactitude and cleanliness. Those same tidy usages, which helped him formulate his medicinals precisely, which kept potions and powders accurately labelled and properly stored, which kept the cauldrons scrubbed and the work tables clean of poisonous spills, Severus had employed in the upkeep of his flat. It soon became the neatest, cleanest, quietest place he had ever lived in, a peaceful refuge from his present and his past.

He should have known it couldn't last. His heart should not have sunk within him when Mother had shown up at his flat, full of fresh woes. Tobias had left her again, this time for a barmaid either too stupid or too greedy to stop serving him when he got drunk. The loneliness of the empty house in Spinner's End had been too much for her, Eileen had said, with tears rolling slowly down her cheeks.

Severus had stared at her in silence, certain he couldn't squeeze her into his one-bedroom flat, knowing he didn't want to squeeze her into his solitary, peaceful life.

But he should have known something like this would happen. What had made him think he could escape?

He should have searched for a larger flat in the beginning. Then he might have had time to find something better than the draughty old house in Linden Lane into which he'd moved his mother and himself. Still, Linden Lane had its advantages. The little terrace enjoyed the cooperation of all its tenants in maintaining the Muggle-Repelling Charms with which its landlady had surrounded it. That, the landlady had declared, was one term of the lease on which she would not yield. And Severus knew she was telling the truth about the obscurity of the place, for he had scoured Muggle newspapers and maps without success for any mention of a street named Linden Lane.

That obscurity was a good thing. Tobias had not yet found them. It was possible, of course, that he wasn't looking, but Severus had his doubts about that. Tobias had always come home in the end. God knew why, but he could never stay away from Mother for long. After a few weeks he had always shown up at the house in Spinner's End with his arms full of flowers and his face streaked with maudlin tears.

A dozen times, easily, Mother had taken him back. Severus could remember a few occasions when she had shown a moment of backbone and shut the door in his face. Then Tobias had stalked and threatened her until she had given in.

Severus had long ago stopped asking himself, and Mother, why she didn't use magic to stop Father.

Maybe he refused to ask because Tobias asked, and Severus did not want to say, do or be anything like his father.

_"Why don't you use t'wand, witch, if you hate me so much? Cast one o' your curses!"_

She did not. She had never cast a curse on Tobias Snape, though Severus had known for a long time that nothing less would stop him.

Tobias couldn't be stopped. It was time Severus resigned himself to that.

_Then don't let him find us._ The thought felt like a prayer, though Severus didn't know to whom. But he thought it, or prayed it, every single night.

Severus's ruminations had brought him as far as Linden Lane, and he turned from the road into the small, winding street which led to his house. The house was dark, but that wasn't unusual. Unless Mother was in one of her moods, she rarely stayed up past eleven.

He was surprised, however, to see a light shining through the curtains of a ground-floor window in the house next door. The elderly couple who lived there went to bed earlier than Mother did.

As Severus watched, the curtains parted slightly, allowing a brighter sliver of light to shine between them. Then they snapped shut again, and the window went dark.

Severus glanced up and down the street, wondering what the person behind the curtain had been looking at. But the rest of the lane was empty, sleeping quietly under a blanket of night.

Shrugging, Severus climbed the steps to his own house and went inside. He lit the candles by the stairs with a flick of his wand and hung his cloak on a peg in the row beside the front door. Then, passing through the hallway, he went into the kitchen to make the cup of tea he liked to take with him to bed.

He lit the lamp that hung from the kitchen ceiling and saw Mother sitting at the table.

She stared at the opposite wall. She didn't move or speak. She hadn't even blinked when the candles in the lamp had flared into life. The table was littered with the remains of a half-eaten tea: a couple of kippers, a currant bun with a couple of bites taken out of it and a dirty cup next to the teapot.

Severus was already tired. When he looked at his mother, he became exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to brew that cup of tea, drink it and crawl into bed.

But he couldn't leave her like this.

"Is something the matter, Mother?" Severus's voice sounded stiff and strained. Mother would surely sense, as she always did, that he loathed having to deal with her when she was like this.

"Why, nothing, Severus," she answered faintly, without looking at him.

Severus smothered a sigh. He would have to prod it out of her. And how long would it take? How much sleep would he lose? The clock ticking away on the wall already said half twelve.

"You haven't finished your tea," he said.

"I'm not hungry."

Suddenly Severus saw no point in pursuing it. Instead, he began tidying up the kitchen, tossing the food into the bin and setting the dishes to washing themselves in the sink.

With their need for money ever-present in his mind, Severus decided to turn the subject a bit. "Tobias is gone," he said, careful not to sound too emphatic. "He's been gone the whole summer." It was the longest-lasting of Tobias Snape's desertions that Severus could remember. Perhaps it would cheer Mother up to realise that, really, she was doing perfectly well without him.

"I was thinking," Severus continued. "We might as well go ahead and let the house in Spinner's End. We talked about that before, do you remember?"

"Let the house?" Mother blinked and looked at Severus. "But what if your father comes back? Where will he live?"

Severus gritted his teeth. He couldn't speak yet. If he did, he would shout at her, just like Tobias. And he wasn't Tobias.

"Last week you didn't care if my father came back," he said finally, in a taut and quiet voice.

"Things have changed."

She always said that after Tobias had got at her, wheedling and vaguely threatening his way back into her good graces. But he couldn't have reached her here, in a terrace surrounded by enchantments the landlady had guaranteed no Muggle could ever pierce.

As long as each tenant cooperated in maintaining the magic.

"We don't want to rely on the government for everything, do we?" Mrs Watkins, the landlady, had said when indicating that part of the lease which declared it was each tenant's responsibility to help keep Linden Lane a secret from the Muggles. "Besides, the Ministry have their hands full hiding Diagon and Knockturn Alleys from the Muggles. Not to mention the hospital and themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

At the time, Severus and his mother had most heartily agreed.

Severus stared at his mother. And he thought of the crack of bright light shining through the momentarily parted curtains of the neighbours' house.

"Mother," he began. Then he head a knock at the front door.

It was a quiet enough knock. Nevertheless Severus closed his hand around the wand in his pocket before he went to the door.

But he released his wand when he opened the door, for their visitor was no one to fear, at least not in that way. It was their landlady.

"Mrs Watkins." Severus sounded ungracious, but he didn't care. It was after midnight, and he longed more than ever for his bed.

Mrs Watkins looked as though she had been roused from her own bed. The front of her robe was unevenly buttoned, as if she had hastily thrown it on, and her greying hair was covered with a hairnet. She didn't wait for Severus's invitation to step over the threshold.

Mother's anxious voice came from the kitchen. "Severus, who is it?"

"It's only Mrs Watkins," said Severus.

He led the landlady into the kitchen. Mother had risen and stood behind her chair, gripping its back with white-knuckled hands.

"Why, Mrs Watkins, this is a pleasant surprise!" Mother said.

"Is it?" asked Mrs Watkins.

Mother's voice went a little higher. "Would you--would you like a cup of tea?"

Mrs Watkins gave her a pitying look. "Please don't trouble yourself, Mrs Snape. I know it's late, but I wanted to wait until your son came home. I'm really only here to--well, I'm afraid we need to talk about that little incident that happened earlier this evening."

"It won't happen again, Mrs Watkins, I promise you--"

"Incident?" said Severus. "What incident?"

Mother's lower lip trembled and she gripped the chair harder. She didn't answer.

"That man who came round," Mrs Watkins said gently. "He's your husband, isn't he, Mrs Snape?"

Severus rubbed his hands over his face. He was so tired he felt sick to his stomach.

"He wanted money, and I gave it to him," Mother was saying when Severus looked up again. "He won't be back."

"But, Mrs Snape," said Mrs Watkins. "Your husband's obviously a Muggle. How did he find you here?"

"Obviously you have your own suspicions," Severus said coldly. "Why don't you tell us?"

"Severus," Mother said tremulously.

"Very well, I will." Mrs Watkins's voice was noticeably harder. "I think your father--he _is_ your father, isn't he?"

"Of course he is!" Severus snapped.

"Perhaps so," said Mrs Watkins. "You both seem to have tempers. Well, as I see it, someone must have given your father your mother's address. Someone must have told him she lived in Linden Lane."

"So?" Severus said. "That wasn't enough to get him here. What about the enchantments?"

"Yes, what about them?" said Mrs Watkins. "This place isn't protected by a Fidelius Charm, Mr Snape, and I'm not a Secret-Keeper. I'm not the only person responsible for maintaining the Muggle-Repelling Charms around Linden Lane."

Severus clapped his mouth shut. He should have kept it shut to begin with. He avoided looking at Mother. But that didn't do any good.

"I was taking a walk in the park," Mother said softly. "It's so easy to get to one here; we used to have to get the bus when we lived in Spinner's End. I like to watch the children on the playground."

"Yes?" said Mrs Watkins. Her cloying tone was back. She was playing Mother like a fish on her hook.

"He was there," Mother said, almost inaudibly.

Averting his eyes from the two of them, staring at the clock (whose hands now stood at ten minutes to one) didn't help. Severus still heard more than enough. _"Why_ did you tell him our address!" he burst out angrily.

There was a silence. Finally Severus looked at his landlady and his mother.

With raised eyebrows, Mrs Watkins looked back at him. Mother stared down at her hands, which were still clenched on the back of the kitchen chair.

They wanted an apology, Severus reckoned. He wouldn't give it. He had nothing to apologise for.

"I--I'm sorry," Mother whispered. "But when he said he wanted to know where to send payments for the last loan we made him, I believed him." She looked up tentatively. Her eyes were bright, like the eyes of a terrified bird. "He's paid us before, Severus, sometimes."

"Ah, I think I see it now," Mrs Watkins said. "You don't really want to help keep up the Muggle-Repelling Enchantments."

"Of course we do!" said Severus.

"Mrs Snape doesn't. Or she wouldn't have given her husband her address, would she?"

Mother looked up. "But he's my _husband."_

"Yes, my dear, he's your husband," said Mrs Watkins. "And he's a Muggle. And you wanted to get away from him. And the best way to get away from him was to go somewhere you hadn't taken him before, that he couldn't possibly know anything about. A place, on top of all that, where you knew the Muggle-Repelling Enchantments were as strong as they could possibly be."

Mother didn't answer. Mrs Watkins pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down directly across from her. "It happens all the time, Mrs Snape. A witch falls in love with a Muggle, marries him, and things don't work out so well. She runs away, escapes to a place where she hopes she can disappear. And there's hardly a better place in the whole world, Muggle or Wizarding, to disappear than London, is there?"

"No," Mother whispered.

"Only you don't want to stay disappeared any longer. You want--what's your husband's name, Mrs Snape?"

"Tobias."

"You want Tobias back."

Mother was silent for a moment. Then she said softly, her voice shaking with tears, "Please don't evict us, Mrs Watkins."

"Why, Mother, who said anything about eviction!" Severus said hurriedly. "The idea couldn't be further from Mrs Watkins's mind, could it--"

Severus turned, seeking the landlady's confirmation, and saw that her brow was furrowed with a deep frown. "Mrs Snape did break an important term of the lease," Mrs Watkins said quietly.

"She said it wouldn't happen again," said Severus.

Mrs Watkins didn't answer. Both of them looked at Eileen Snape, who did not raise her head.

"I can cover for both of us," said Severus. "I signed the lease too."

"No, you can't. Mrs Snape's got to do her part, as long as she's living here. That's how the magic works. The wording of the lease makes that very clear."

Mother moaned softly, sending a chill of fear through Severus. "There must be something I can do!" he said desperately.

Mrs Watkins held up a hand. "Calm down, both of you. I'm not going to evict you. I'm just giving you a warning. Tobias Snape shouted a couple of times and woke Mr and Mrs Lindsay. I can't have that."

Mr and Mrs Lindsay were the elderly couple next door, whose window had been lit when Severus had come home.

"It won't happen again," said Severus.

"I'm sure you mean that," Mrs Watkins said with weary resignation. It suddenly occurred to Severus that Mother might not have been the first witch to take refuge from her Muggle husband in Mrs Watkins's terrace.

"If I say it, I mean it," said Severus.

"Fair enough," said Mrs Watkins. She nodded at Severus, then at Mother, who, silent again, did not look up. "Mr Snape, Mrs Snape. Good night, then."

---

After Mrs Watkins had left, Severus dried the dishes with a Tergeatur Charm and sent them into the cupboards, all without looking at Mother. When he was done, he sat down in the chair Mrs Watkins had recently vacated.

In all that time, Mother didn't move.

"Why don't you sit down?" Severus asked.

Mother slowly looked up. In the candlelight, two identical tears glistened on her cheeks. Severus suppressed a weary and irritated sigh.

But at least, finally, she sat down.

"What did he want this time?" Severus asked.

"H--he promised not to trouble us." Mother's voice quavered slightly. She swallowed hard before going on. "He wants to go back to the house in Spinner's End."

"The barmaid chucked him out, I suppose."

"_She _doesn't love him," Mother said in a small but suddenly clear voice.

_Neither do we._ Severus bit his tongue to keep from giving voice to the thought, for Mother had reached the point in her endless Sisyphean cycle where she would deny it with anger and tears.

"It's his house too," Severus said, in a tone which he hoped would make her think he couldn't care less. "Let him go back, if he can pay the mortgage."

"Well, that's what he was here about," said Mother. "He and Will Paxton are thinking of going into business together. He wanted me to ask you for a loan, just a bit to tide him over until he and Will were on their feet--"

Severus couldn't hold back any longer. "Will Paxton! That good-for-nothing drunkard! They'd just take my money and waste it on whisky and the football pools! Wait," he said, deflating suddenly. "Exactly how much money did you give him?"

Mother hesitated. "Not that much--I can spare it..."

Severus slammed his fist down hard on the table. "Why didn't you just give him a good Blasting Curse!"

Mother started and shrank back. Severus drew his hand off the table and clenched both hands together in his lap. "I'm sorry," he muttered, then said louder, "_You're_ permitted, you know. The Ministry wouldn't come after _you._"

"But, Severus, I couldn't hurt my own husband."

She'd used to, though, when Severus was small. Or, rather, she hadn't actually _hurt_ Tobias. She hadn't done half of what she could have done. She'd only hexed him when, like a good many other fathers in Spinner's End, he'd gone after Severus with the belt.

But that had been a long time ago. His mother hadn't raised her wand against Tobias Snape since Severus, at the age of thirteen, had made it clear he was capable of defending himself.

For a short time after that, he had demanded to know why. "_Why don't you Blast him! Why don't you hex him! Why don't you curse him!"_

She'd answered him once only, also when he was thirteen: _"Is that how you treat someone you love, Severus, especially a Muggle, who hasn't the magic to defend himself? How do you expect him to love you back?"_

_"He doesn't love me and I don't care! I hate him!"_

_He_ could have hurt Tobias then, if he had dared, if he hadn't feared the Ministry would find out and have him expelled from Hogwarts.

And now?

He had thrown out the Hidden Hellebore. So, although the Ministry had that to hold over his head, he, Severus, had nothing to show for the crime of formulating a controlled poison.

That was answer enough, wasn't it? Severus had been tempted to hurt Tobias Snape. But in that, as in many other things, he couldn't afford to indulge himself.

He looked at his mother, at her worn face, her slumped shoulders, her sad air. The memory of an hour ago returned to him, of walking in on her as she'd sat staring at nothing, surrounded by the cold remains of her tea.

She couldn't hurt Tobias with magic. She couldn't use magic to satisfy the terms of their lease by helping to uphold the Muggle-Repelling Charms. She couldn't do anything with magic.

"Has it happened again, Mother?" Severus asked.

She didn't ask him what he meant. "What's the good of being magical?" she said instead. "Why does everyone think being a pureblood witch is the most wonderful thing in the world?"

Severus felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though a sodden blanket woven of his own rage and exhaustion had been thrown over his face. "You've lost your magic again, haven't you, Mother?"

"What if I have? It's never done me any good. No one loves you for being magical, Severus."

"They don't love you if you're not magical, either!" Severus snapped, not caring that her face crumpled with hurt. "Magic isn't supposed to do you any good! It's what you _are_!"

Mother buried her face in her hands. Severus waited resentfully for the sobs to begin. But they didn't, and after a moment Mother looked up.

"You're right, Severus. I must try to pull myself together."

She did try, and for the moment, outwardly at least, she managed. She sat down and smiled at him, and her lips trembled only a little.

Severus smoothed his features somewhat, though he couldn't manage a smile in return. She always did the best she could, he supposed. She seemed less and less capable, though, the older Severus got and the less he needed her.

"I can do it and I will," Mother said. "Starting tonight."

_I'm sure you mean that._

Severus couldn't help thinking it. But it was something he could never bring himself to say aloud.

---

Severus and his mother went to bed soon afterward, for they had nothing more to say to each other. Severus had heard all he'd wanted to hear about his mother's day, while Eileen Snape, for her part, took little interest in the work which consumed nearly all of her son's waking hours.

Severus knew that lack of interest was not due to ignorance. Before he had met Melusine Morgan and the Apothecaries of St. Mungo's Hospital, his mother was the best Potioner Severus had known. She was even better, he had thought, than her teacher, Horace Slughorn.

But she wasn't now. Her Potioning, along with the rest of her magic, had become very sporadic since she'd given up hope of affecting Tobias Snape's behaviour.

Could she restore enough of her magic to keep them both from being chucked into the street? Did she want to?

Severus couldn't worry about it now. He was too tired. When he reached his room, he undressed and crawled into bed without even bothering to bathe, and he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

---

There was banging in the darkness and a half-human, half-animal roaring, like the howling of a werewolf.

"Open t' door, damn and blast it! Open t' door!"

Severus's eyes popped open. A thrill of childish fear shot through him, and he sat straight up in bed.

"Woman! Open this here door!"

There was more banging, so loud it sounded as though it might shatter the door. Severus's fear turned to anger, for the voice was his father's and the time, as he looked at his watch on his bedside table, was three a.m.

"Filthy Muggle!" Severus hissed through gritted teeth. He pulled on his robes, scooped up his wand and ran downstairs. He heard his mother behind him. "Severus!" she called in a whimpering voice, but he paid no attention.

Severus threw open the door. There stood Tobias on the front step.

Tobias laughed on an exhalation of whisky-laden breath. "Why, it's Severus! The wizard-lad's home!"

Tobias swayed on his feet. Behind him was Severus's next-door neighbour, Mr Lindsay, whose face was twisted with fury.

"What's he doing here?" Mr Lindsay said to Severus. "Mrs Watkins said we'd seen the last of him! She said you'd see to him!"

Tobias swung round to face him. "Well, if it isn't me old mate Lindsay! I've come to call on me wife and son, Mr Lindsay. There's nowt wrong wi' that, now, is there?"

Severus levelled his wand at his father. "Get off my door-step," he said softly.

"Now, what sort o' welcome is that for your old dad--?"

"Severus, let him inside!"

Mother's voice sounded breathless with terror. On instinct, Severus obeyed her.

Tobias stepped over the threshold, and Mother closed the door on Mr Lindsay.

Tobias grinned, showing a row of jagged yellow teeth. "Aye, there's a good lass!"

_Lass._ Severus hated the word. He tightened his grip on his wand. "What do you want?"

Tobias kept smiling. "Put that thing away, Severus-lad. You know and I know it's nowt but show."

Severus trembled with the effort to control his rage. He shoved his wand into his pocket, so that his father wouldn't see it shake.

"There's a good lad--"

_"Don't_ call me lad!" Severus shouted.

"Severus, please!" his mother said, while his father laughed.

"I'm the man who sired you," Tobias said then, the laugh suddenly gone from his voice. "I'm your father. I'll call you whatever I feel like."

_Father._ He could call himself what he pleased, but he'd never hear _Father_ from Severus's lips again. "Tell us what you want and get out of here."

Tobias didn't answer. He turned his back on Severus and, with Mother at his heels, sauntered into the sitting room.

His hand itching for his wand all the way, Severus had no choice but to follow them.

"Answer me!" said Severus upon entering the sitting room. "What do you want?"

Tobias lounged against one of the battered armchairs Mrs Watkins had lent to Mother. "Just a couple o' quid from the wife and son I've supported all these years."

"Mother gave you money," Severus said. "What did you do with it?"

"Now what business is that o' yours?" Tobias asked.

"You've drunk it all," said Severus. "Well, you're not getting any more, so get out of our house."

"'Our' house, is it? Then it's mine too, for I'm as much a part o' this family as you are. More, in fact, for I _made_ this family."

Severus sneered at him. "You good-for-nothing lout. You've got all the money you're going to get from Mother, and you've got your own house in Spinner's End, thanks to the mortgage _I'm_ paying on it." It suddenly occurred to him to ask, "Why aren't you there, anyway? What are you doing in London?"

Tobias took on a sly look. "That's between your mother an' me."

"You're not about to keep secrets from me," Severus said. "Not when you've practically got us evicted."

"He wants me to come home," Mother said. "And maybe I should." Her voice fell. "I'm so much trouble to you, Severus."

"O' course you should, lass!" said Tobias. "We've had our ups and downs, but we're married, an't we? 'Course we should live together!"

Mother said nothing. She looked at Tobias with an expression full of doubt and longing.

"No," said Severus.

She'd never stay with him. How could she? On the other hand, Severus wasn't about to put up with her shuttling back and forth between him and his father. He couldn't afford this house if Mother moved to Spinner's End and started giving her share of the rent to Tobias. Severus would have to move out of Linden Lane, probably to some cramped bed-sit somewhere. He'd stretched himself on the rent for so long, he had hardly any savings left. He'd never be able to afford the same sort of tidy little one-bedroom flat he'd had before.

"She's staying with me," said Severus. "You're staying with me, Mother."

"You'll not be tellin' her what to do," said Tobias. "She's a grown woman and she's your mother."

"Maybe he's right, Severus. I'm just a burden to you." Mother gestured around the sitting room. "I know you can't afford this and the mortgage on Spinner's End too."

Severus whirled on her. "It's not the money!" he snapped, and, indeed, that was only half a lie. "You don't belong with him! _We_ don't belong with him! He hates what we are! If you go with him, he'll rob you blind, and then he'll try to crush the witch out of you! And when you won't be crushed, because you _can't_ be crushed, he'll leave!"

Tobias tensed. The angry red blotches in his unshaven cheeks told Severus he'd been spot on.

Tobias raised a clenched fist. "Why, you interfering whelp--"

Severus's wand was out in an instant and pointed at Tobias's face. He could feel his lips pull back in a mirthless grin.

"Self-defence," Severus said softly. "Even the Ministry might see it that way."

Mother launched herself between them. "No, Severus! Tobias, _don't!"_

Tobias backed off a step and lowered his fist slightly. Then he grinned. "Don't you worry, Eileen. He won't go through with it, the lily-livered, snivelling little coward that he is. Isn't that what your kind, them wizards you love so much, call you? _Snivellus?"_

_Snivellus. _Potter's constant taunt. Severus could not breathe past the tightness in his chest. His sight went grey with rage.

"Snivellus! That's what his wizard-mates called 'im, weren't it, Eileen? Remember, we saw them at King's Cross when Severus was twelve, when we were puttin' him on that train?"

_When Severus was twelve._ The old man had treasured that memory of his only son's humiliation for eight years.

"You filthy, drunken Muggle bastard!" Severus shrieked. Again he raised his wand, but he couldn't think of an incantation, his mind was so blurred with fury. All he knew was that he wanted to hurt Tobias Snape, to see him writhing on the floor and hear him scream for mercy.

He heard his mother's voice as if from a distance--"Don't, Severus, _please!"_--and felt fingers scrabbling at his arm. He shook them off and shoved blindly, violently. For a moment, he felt the resistance of her body against his hand. Then it was gone.

Severus pointed his wand at Tobias's chest. With the greatest pleasure, he saw his father go pale with fear.

"Now hold a bit, Sevvie-lad, I was just jokin' with yer--"

At that moment the front door burst open with a bang. Severus heard pounding footsteps and voices.

"You see, you see--!" said Mr Lindsay, and with amazing agility Tobias dived behind a couch.

_"Expelliarmus!" _Mrs Watkins roared.

The air around Severus flashed scarlet. With a painful jerk of his wrist, his wand soared out of his hand. The force of the spell sent him staggering.

Severus straightened to find Mrs Watkins in front of him. Both his wand and her own were clenched in her hand. Both her hands were clenched into fists, which rested on her hips. She glared at Severus.

"Now, then," she said. "I want to know _why_ I can't have peace in this house for two hours together. Especially at three o'clock in the morning!"

But Severus was no longer paying attention to her. He had caught sight of his mother kneeling on the hearthrug, hunched and shivering. A sickness began to churn in the pit of his stomach. He remembered his palm meeting her chest. But he hadn't meant to push her _that_ roughly....

"Oi! Where do you think you're going!" Mr Lindsay shouted.

Severus twisted around to see Mr Lindsay's wand trained on Tobias. Tobias was flattened against the wall and looked as though he had been inching toward the door.

"It's him, all right, Rose!" Mr Lindsay said to Mrs Watkins. "That Muggle who was round earlier!" Tobias smiled weakly.

"Don't hurt him!" Mother pleaded. She had got to her feet and was brushing off her robes with trembling hands, as if it were her fault they were disordered.

Mrs Watkins looked at her with a mixture of pity and irritation. "Is this your husband, Mrs Snape?" she asked, gesturing toward Tobias.

Mother nodded.

"What should I do with him, then? I could call Law Enforcement to send over a couple of hit wizards."

"No!" Mother said; then, looking between Severus and Tobias, she faltered. "I don't know. Just--"

"Eileen!" said Tobias. His chin trembled and his eyes darted back and forth between Mrs Watkins and Mr Lindsay. "Don't hand me over to these unnatural creatures!"

"Shut up!" Severus cried.

Mrs Watkins raised the wands she still held and shook them at Severus. Miraculously, nothing came out of them. "That will be enough out of you!" Then she turned to Mr Lindsay. "Russell, do me a favour? Take the Muggle down the road somewhere, well out of Linden Lane. Then Obliviate him and turn him loose."

Mr Lindsay grinned and Tobias quailed. "With pleasure," said Mr Lindsay.

"And try not to be too obvious about it, would you? The last thing I need is the Ministry coming down round my ears."

Mr Lindsay shrugged elaborately and winked at Tobias.

"Eilee--!" Tobias began in a quavering voice, but Mr Lindsay Petrified him before he could finish. Then, Levitating Tobias before him, Mr Lindsay left the house.

---

After the door had closed behind Mr Lindsay, Mrs Watkins looked at Mother. Wringing her hands, Mother averted her eyes.

"I didn't know he'd be back so soon," Mother said. "I didn't think--I promise I'll do better next time. Tomorrow, after I've had some sleep. I'll be stronger then...."

Mrs Watkins sighed. Turning to Severus, she handed him back his wand.

"Why didn't you do what I just had Mr Lindsay do?" she asked. "Why didn't you get your father out of the Lane, Obliviate him and let him go? Or if you couldn't handle him, why didn't you just call the hit wizards?"

"I can handle him!" said Severus.

"Oh? I didn't notice," Mrs Watkins said witheringly. She glanced at Mother, whose head was still bowed. She sighed again, and the irritation left her face. "Look, Mr Snape--Severus--may I call you Severus?"

Severus shrugged.

"Look, Severus. I'm sorry. But I've had several tenants tell me, if your father shows up one more time, they're calling Law Enforcement. I can't have that. I can't rent to people who can't or won't uphold the Statute of Secrecy. It's a violation of the Housing Code, to say nothing of the Statute itself. I could be hauled up before the Wizengamot on charges."

Severus looked at Mother. She didn't move. But she must have heard.

"I'm sorry," Mrs Watkins repeated. "But if you can't keep Tobias Snape away from my buildings, you'll have to leave. It's in the lease, you know. You have to help maintain the Muggle-Repelling Enchantments."

"I know," said Severus.

"Well, then, you understand. Don't you?"

Severus stared at her. She looked slightly distressed. But, obviously, she wasn't troubled enough to take pity on Mother and him. So he refused to answer her.

"Ah, right, then. Mrs Snape?"

Her brow furrowed, Mrs Watkins looked at Mother. Mother nodded without raising her head.

"Yes, well, then! Very good!" Mrs Watkins said, her voice falsely bright. Then, as if she realised how absurd she sounded, she sighed once again and shook her head. "Good night, Severus, Eileen," she said quietly. She left the sitting room and in a moment Severus heard the front door close very softly.

Severus looked at his mother. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes were still averted and she was still shaking.

"Mother?" Severus said.

She did not respond.

"Mother? I--I'm--" Severus paused and took a breath. "I'm going to bed."

Mother neither moved nor answered. Severus left her there, standing on the hearthrug.

He couldn't stay up all night regretting, apologising, going over it all uselessly, again and again. He had to get some sleep, he told himself as he climbed the stairs to bed. It was practically four a.m. He had to go to work tomorrow. Somebody in this family had to earn a living.

Mother wasn't used to coddling, anyway. When had Tobias ever coddled her? So Severus didn't have to go on about it. Mother would understand that he hadn't _meant_ to--

She'd be all right in a day or two. She'd forgive Severus. Why not? She'd always forgiven Tobias, hadn't she?


	6. Chapter 6

THE FIREWHIP

Autumn, 1975

Severus had had enough of Hogsmeade. He didn't go often and he wouldn't have bothered this time, except that he had hoarded enough of his pocket money to buy a large square of chocolate at Honeyduke's. The half-hour of warm well-being the chocolate had given him had been worth every precious Knut.

But the half-hour was gone and the solace the sweet had given Severus had trickled away. He had come into Hogsmeade with some of the Slytherins--Wilkes, Avery, Ruskin and Lestrange--but, one by one, they'd found companions they'd preferred and had wandered off: Wilkes and Avery, together as ever, Ruskin with Maddy Urquhart and Lestrange with Eleanor Baddock.

No one had shunned Severus. It had all been, "We'll see you back in the dungeon, all right, Severus? Don't eat too many sweets! And don't forget, you promised to revise Everlasting Elixirs with me before lessons Monday!"

All very civil. Still, their defections had left him alone, with his pockets empty of money. And so he supposed he might as well go back to the castle.

Besides, it was October, a week before Hallowe'en, and the sun was setting earlier and earlier. It wouldn't be long before the rest of them would have to start back, anyway. It might be nice to have an hour's peace in the dormitory before Wilkes, Avery and Rosier got back. Especially Rosier. Severus wasn't exactly keen on spending half the night listening to Rosier regale them with his latest foray against Vaisey's virginity.

The sun was still high when Severus started out, but by the time he had crossed the train tracks and was on the road heading toward the school gates, sunlight was filtering through the trees and a mist was rising from the lake.

Severus shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged along, his eyes on the road. He supposed he could do homework when he got back, but he didn't have to. It was only Saturday, and he'd kept up with his work all week.

He could work on his spells instead. Sectumsempra certainly needed attention. Severus was developing higher levels to the cutting spell, and it wasn't easy. But he wanted to do more with Sectumsempra than scratch his opponent, as he'd scratched James Potter on the cheek after O.W.L.s the year before.

He needed something stronger. Not necessarily something that would cut an enemy to ribbons. He wasn't out to kill anyone. He just wanted to make Sectumsempra into a spell which would create an unforgettable impression. A spell that would make the wizard on the receiving end think twice before he attacked Severus Snape again.

Severus continued deep in thought. The Firewhip was another spell which needed refinement, but refinement of a different sort. He wanted to make that spell invisible. He didn't want his opponent to have a chance to dodge before those lashes of fire bit into him....

The mist grew thicker. It drifted through the trees and over the road, turning gold as if touched by the rays of the westering sun. Still thinking about the Firewhip, Severus strode into the fog. He wouldn't get lost. He knew the road back to Hogwarts by heart.

The next thing Severus knew, the world had turned. With his feet still firmly on the road, he was hanging upside down. His wand slipped from his pocket, and for a second he saw it falling away, into a seemingly limitless sky. Then, like a curtain, his robes descended over his face.

Severus pushed his robes back and, clutching the cloth in his fists, held them over his body. Paralyzed with fear, he saw nothing but the deepening blue of the late-afternoon sky, the sun drawing near to the horizon and a few purpley-pink clouds in the west. He had no idea where his wand had gone.

Suddenly Severus heard half-smothered laughter. In a loud whisper, a very familiar voice said, "Oh, brilliant, Prongs! Bloody brilliant!"

"Yeah, it is, isn't it, Paddy? If I do say so myself," said James Potter.

_Of course._ That hadn't been sunlight which had turned the fog in the road gold. Severus had stepped into an anti-gravity mist. All he had to do to escape the enchantment was take a step forward. As for his wand, he was sure he'd find it right on the ground at his feet. He'd step out of the mist, grab his wand, and when he did, oh, would Potter ever pay for this.

Severus closed his eyes (it was the only way he could overcome his fear of falling into an infinity of sky) and tried to lift his foot. It wouldn't move.

"You didn't forget the Glutinator Hex, did you?" Black said in the same stage whisper.

"'Course not! Can't you tell?" said Potter. "He's still in the mist!"

Potter's gang laughed in reply, for of course all four of them were there: Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew.

"All right, you two, let him go!" said Lupin, playing prefect. He had too much laughter in his voice to convince Severus it was anything more than play.

"Nah, why should they?" said Pettigrew. "It's not like we can see anything this time, thank God!"

With obvious difficulty, Lupin choked back a laugh. "Oh, _dissolvo!"_ he said in a tone of amusement and annoyance.

The world righted itself. The sky was above Severus, and the road, now clear of mist, was beneath his feet.

Searching the ground around him, Severus saw with rising panic that his wand was nowhere nearby.

"Here, Severus," said Lupin. Severus started and looked up. Lupin was standing no more than a couple of feet away, holding out Severus's wand.

Severus snatched the wand and saw surprise, then mild anger cross Lupin's face.

"You're welcome," Lupin said pointedly.

"Ah, I see. _You_ want to teach _me_ manners." Severus kept his voice cold. Fighting down a spasm of anger, he got deliberately to his feet. They weren't going to goad him into shrieking, ineffectual fury this time and make him despise himself afterward for it. "Why don't you tend to your own House?" He jabbed a finger at Potter and Black. "You're their prefect, aren't you? When you're not their cur, wagging your tail and licking their boots."

Black raised his wand. "Shove it up your arse, Snape. And shut your gob while you're about it."

"No!" said Lupin. "That's enough!"

Black looked at Lupin and lowered his wand, muttering under his breath. Potter and Pettigrew were silent, but beetroot-red with rage.

It felt so good to get under their skins. Severus tingled with the rare pleasure of it. "I still haven't worked out why Dumbledore chose you," he said to Lupin. "Did he _want_ a rotten prefect, somebody who'd cater to Potter and Black? Or didn't that matter, because he knew you'd be gone half the time, and Potter and Black would be able to carry on as usual, getting away with twice as much as anybody in any other House?"

Suddenly Lupin's expression changed. He looked uncertain, even fearful. Severus had hit a nerve. He moved on Lupin, pressing his advantage. "Convenient, isn't it? 'It's not skiving, he can't help it, he has his poor, sick mum to care for! Let's give him twice as long to finish his schoolwork, even though we'd put anybody else on probation. Oh, and by the way let's make him a prefect too! He won't report the only friends he's got, even when he _is_ here to catch them. Maybe Potter and Black's parents will stop complaining about how much time their little darlings spend in detention!'"

Lupin's face turned parchment-white. "You keep your mouth off my mum."

Severus laughed softly. "Why, you were gone just this past week, weren't you? You don't look so well. Did you catch what mummy's got? Is it contagious; will you give it to the rest of us, so we can bunk any time we want, like you do--?"

"Shut _up!"_ cried Pettigrew.

Grinning, Severus turned toward Pettigrew, only to be stopped by a wand pointed inches from his face.

James Potter was holding the wand. "You heard them, Snivelly. Keep your filthy trap shut. Or I'll forget I promised Moony I wouldn't hurt you."

Severus's own wand was out before Potter was finished, and he had a hold on it no Disarming Spell could loose. "Do you really want to try it, Potter? You haven't jumped me from behind. I've still got my wand. I'm not flat on the ground. It's four dolts against one wizard. I'm not sure you want to take the chance."

"Then I will!" yelled Black, his face contorted with anger.

"Stop, Sirius!" Lupin said, but the slug-vomiting curse, already cast, sprang from Black's wand. Severus deflected it and followed it with an Impediment Jinx that took Black to the ground.

At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Potter raising his wand. Severus whirled to face him. Memories of old humiliations at Potter's hands bubbled poisonously in his heart.

_Flammaflagrum!_ The thought leapt to Severus's mind and, quicker than any spoken word could have sent them, the snapping silver tendrils of the Firewhip shot out of his wand.

As the Firewhip curled toward him, Potter flicked his wand. Severus's arms and legs jerked. His wand waved wildly, and he fell to his hands and knees. He felt an itching, then pressure on each side of his scalp, just above his ears. He couldn't rise. He couldn't even properly crawl. He scrabbled on the ground like a confused and infuriated beetle.

Then Peter Pettigrew began to scream.

"Good lord! What's Snape done to him?" Lupin cried.

Severus couldn't see what was happening. He couldn't lift his head or rise from his hands and knees. Something burst through his scalp, and the pressure eased. _Feelers,_ Severus realised, when he saw their feathery ends waving before his eyes. Potter had hit him with an Insect Jinx.

Miraculously, he still had his wand. But when he tried to aim it at himself to reverse the jinx, his arm flailed uselessly, like an insect's appendage, and the spell went awry.

Worse yet, Severus could feel magic tugging at his wand. Someone was trying to Disarm him. He held on with all his might.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Potter roared over Pettigrew's yells of pain. "Give me that damned wand, you bastard!"

"What in hell is going on here!" a new voice, that of Olaus Ruskin, shouted above the rest. "Rabby, watch Black!"

A spell cracked and Black yelped. Severus felt the hair-raising brush of another spell across his back, and the Insect Jinx fell away.

Severus leaped to his feet with his wand at the ready. No one paid any attention to him. Black got up slowly and hobbled toward the others, who were gathered in a circle and staring at Pettigrew.

"A good job we lost Maddy and Eleanor after Madame Puddifoot's, eh, Rabastan?" said Ruskin. "Somehow I don't think they'd have considered this part of a fun date."

Lowering his wand slightly, Severus went closer. Pettigrew lay writhing on the ground. His screams had faded to panting moans, as if he had exhausted himself. He had huge, angry-red, blotchy burns on his face and neck, burns which were covered with blisters and seeped fluid. His robe and the shirt beneath it were both torn at the shoulder. The frayed edges of the cloth were charred, and between them Severus could see that Pettigrew's shoulder also was burned.

_"He_ did it!" Black jerked around and pointed at Severus. He looked positively wild: his normally smooth hair was more tousled than Potter's, and his eyes shone madly. "It was one of _his_ spells; I've never seen anything--"

"You'll shut your face till I ask you a question, Black," said Ruskin. "Or I'll see you in detention till Christmas."

Black turned to him, ready to protest. But when he met Ruskin's eyes, he closed his mouth.

"It--it hurts," Pettigrew moaned. Ruskin gave him a cool, speculative look.

"He needs the hospital wing! I'm taking him there now!" Potter tried to Levitate Pettigrew, but Ruskin deflected the charm with a twitch of his wand.

"He'll get there," Ruskin said quietly. "Lupin. You're the Gryffindor prefect. Go on ahead to the hospital wing. Tell Madame Pomfrey what happened and that we're coming right behind you. Rabastan, you go with him. Make sure he doesn't embellish the facts too much."

"If either of them's likely to embellish facts, it isn't Remus," Black began, but Lupin shook his head at him, and Black said no more. Lupin turned at once and started off down the road.

Lestrange seemed oddly reluctant to leave. He stared at Pettigrew for another moment, then exchanged a glance with Ruskin. Only then did he follow Lupin.

Potter and Black fell to their knees beside their friend. Ruskin looked at Severus and gestured at the whimpering, writhing Pettigrew.

"Do you know how to counter this spell?" he asked.

Severus hesitated. He looked at Pettigrew. More blisters had popped up on his burns, and they were shinier than ever, with fluid seeping faster from the damaged skin. Tears squeezed out from beneath his tightly-shut eyelids.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Severus," Ruskin said softly. "I can't help you with the teachers unless you make it better somehow."

"Help him with the teachers!" Potter said, for Ruskin hadn't spoken softly enough. "You ought to help him get expelled!"

Ruskin ignored him. "Severus?"

"Yes," Severus answered. "I've worked out a counter, but I haven't tested it. I--I'm not sure what it will do."

Again Ruskin indicated Pettigrew. "Perhaps you should find out."

Under Potter and Black's suspicious glares, Severus stepped forward. Potter moved to shield Pettigrew with his body, but not before Severus saw Pettigrew clutching his hand in a white-knuckled grip.

Potter looked from Severus to Ruskin. "You two are up to something, aren't you? What are you really going to do to Peter?"

"Exactly what I'd like to know," said Black.

"Not that I care, but I'd get out of Severus's way if I were you," said Ruskin. "Unless you plan on Stunning your friend to put him out of his misery?"

Potter didn't answer. After a moment, he prised Pettigrew's fingers loose from his hand. He and Black reluctantly backed off.

Severus approached Pettigrew and knelt beside him. Pettigrew was trembling now, and still moaning, though more softly. Severus's stomach lurched uneasily. The Firewhip was certainly an effective spell.

Ruskin also drew closer. "My, my, Severus," he murmured. "What do you have against poor little Pettigrew?"

"Nothing, this time," Severus muttered back. "I meant to hit Potter."

"Ah, that makes more sense. But your spell went astray."

Gazing at Pettigrew, Severus brought to the forefront of his mind the Cooling Charm he had devised as a counter to Flammaflagrum: _Refrigeratus._ He waved his wand in broad, slow strokes a few inches above Pettigrew's burns.

A shower of what looked like tiny ice crystals burst from the end of Severus's wand and flowed over the burns which had ravaged Pettigrew's face, neck and shoulder. Severus held his breath. He had tested both the Firewhip and its counter on toads in the back garden over the summer, but he had no idea how a human subject would react.

Pettigrew's eyes popped open in seeming astonishment as the flow of ice crystals settled on his burned skin.

"What--?" he mumbled, staring at Severus. The lines of pain were smoothed away from his face and his body relaxed. Sighing deeply, Pettigrew closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the ground.

Meanwhile, the ice crystals appeared to melt into Pettigrew's skin. The seeping fluid dried up and the blisters disappeared. The angry red of the burns lightened slowly to pink. Severus realised he was watching the beginnings of healing: a thin layer of new skin was forming over the areas which had been destroyed by the burning tendrils of the Firewhip.

"Excellent, Severus, excellent!" Ruskin whispered eagerly.

"What's going on?" "What are you up to over there?" Black and Potter's demands tumbled over each other, creating a cacophony.

"Severus has worked his magic, that's what's happening," said Ruskin.

Severus stood up. "Let me see," said Potter, shouldering Severus aside as he and Black rushed over to Pettigrew.

Severus held his temper. He hadn't forgotten what Potter had said about expulsion. He didn't suppose that, for the likes of him, it was ever outside the realm of possibility, and to be expelled from Hogwarts was the very worst thing that could happen to him. So for now he kept his mouth shut and his wand pointed at the ground. He could always deal with Potter later.

"All right, then," said Ruskin, looking around. "I'm not going to ask what went on here--"

"It's obvious, isn't it" said Black loudly. "Snivelly here has put one of us in the hospital wing! _Again!"_

"If they hadn't ambushed me, it wouldn't have happened!" said Severus.

"Quiet!" Ruskin snapped, and silence fell. "I said, I don't need to know." He Levitated Pettigrew a couple of feet off the ground. "I'll let your Heads of House sort it out. I'm sure Pomfrey'll have plenty to say to them, once she lays eyes on Pettigrew."

Black and Potter followed Ruskin as he manoeuvred Pettigrew into the road. "We're going with Peter," said Potter.

Ruskin shrugged. "Suit yourselves." He looked over his shoulder at Severus, who was hanging behind, hoping he could go straight back to the Slytherin dungeon and escape Pomfrey's wrath, at least.

But it wasn't to be. "You'd better come too, Severus," Ruskin said. "Pomfrey will want to know all about that spell you threw at Pettigrew."

---

Potter and Black spent most of the journey back to the castle hovering over Pettigrew and casting murderous glances at Severus. But at least they were quiet.

"I don't want to hear it," Ruskin had said to them at the outset. "Not one word. If I do, McGonagall will be hearing from me."

Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them when they arrived at the hospital wing, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and a frown on her face. Lupin, who was standing behind her with Lestrange, hurried to join his friends at Pettigrew's side. Surprise crossed his face when he looked down at Pettigrew.

"So there you are." Madame Pomfrey strode forward, waving the Gryffindors aside. "Is that Pettigrew?"

"Yes, Madame," said Ruskin.

Pomfrey bent over Pettigrew, who was still peacefully asleep. Her frown eased. "Hmph! I thought he'd look worse than this, from the way Lupin and Lestrange were carrying on. Of course, I haven't examined him yet."

"Maybe you'd better," Black piped up. "Snape cast something else on Peter too, after the burning spell."

"Thank you, Black, but I don't need you to tell me my job." Frowning again, Pomfrey peered at Pettigrew, then waved her wand slowly up and down the length of his body. When she was done with her examination, she looked up, straight at Severus.

"I'm told you cast the spell that burned Pettigrew," Pomfrey said.

Severus glanced around. Everyone but Pettigrew was staring at him. Potter and Black looked hostile. Lupin seemed mildly anxious. But Ruskin and Lestrange regarded Severus with nothing less than fascination.

"Erm, yes," said Severus. "But Potter cast an insect jinx on me--"

Pomfrey cut him off with a gesture. "Lupin and Lestrange told me all about it. Did you cast the counter-curse too?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"Come with me," Pomfrey said, Levitating Pettigrew toward the bed nearest her office.

His stomach fluttering with apprehension, Severus followed Madame Pomfrey. Potter and his crew crowded behind him, trying to get close to Pettigrew.

"Could we come too?" Potter asked.

"Certainly not!" said Pomfrey. "Get back to your House. It's after dark. Surely you have homework to do?" Seeing their crestfallen faces, she added more kindly, "You can't do anything better for Pettigrew right now than let him sleep for the rest of the night. Come visit him tomorrow."

With much reluctant grumbling, Potter and Black agreed.

"Thank you for helping him, Madame," said Lupin.

Pomfrey met Lupin's eyes and gave him a brief smile. Lupin smiled back, then accompanied Black and Potter out of the hospital wing.

Pomfrey eyed Ruskin and Lestrange. "You, too. Snape can find his own way back to Slytherin House."

Ruskin's eyes moved one more time between Pomfrey, Pettigrew and Severus. "Yes, Madame," he said, motioning for Lestrange to follow him. "See you later, Severus."

---

Madame Pomfrey settled Pettigrew in the bed next to her office and looked at him in silence for several moments.

"Do you know something, Snape?" she said. "This is one of the Darkest curses I've ever seen cast at Hogwarts."

How could she tell? At that moment, Pettigrew looked no worse than many an injured Quidditch player Severus had seen taken off the pitch to the hospital wing.

"Your counter wasn't strong enough to mask the effects of your original curse," Pomfrey went on, uncannily answering Severus's unspoken question. "Lupin wasn't exaggerating when he said you blistered Pettigrew."

Severus said nothing. Pettigrew's face was still pink where the Firewhip had burned him, as though he'd been out in summer sunshine for an afternoon.

From the angle of the burns, it looked as though Pettigrew hadn't taken the full brunt of the Firewhip. Severus had aimed for Potter's chest. What would the Firewhip have done to Potter, if Potter's insect jinx hadn't knocked Severus off his feet?

"Where did you learn this spell?" Pomfrey asked. "I've never seen it before."

There was something in her tone that made Severus dismiss the very attractive possibility of lying to her.

"I invented it," he said.

"You _invented_ it? You, a sixth-year--a curse as powerfully Dark as this one--?"

Severus raised his eyes to Pomfrey's face. She looked utterly astonished. She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. "The counter-curse too? Did you invent that?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Well, thank heaven for that," Pomfrey said with evident relief. She looked back down at Pettigrew. "And you didn't do a bad job of it, either, though the counter's incomplete. What's the incantation?"

_"Flammaflagrum."_

"No, not that." Pomfrey made a face, as if the word itself repelled her. "I mean the incantation for the counter-curse."

_"Refrigeratus."_

"Ah, that makes sense. But your wand-work was probably insufficient. Here, watch me. I'll show you." Pomfrey murmured the incantation under her breath a couple of times. Then, falling silent, she traced a series of complicated spirals over Pettigrew's burned skin. The ice crystals flowed like a glittering trail of stars from her wand and melted into Pettigrew's skin. The redness disappeared. Pettigrew's face, neck and shoulder looked as good as new.

Pettigrew sighed softly as Pomfrey worked. But he never opened his eyes, and after Pomfrey was finished he was perfectly quiet again.

"There," Pomfrey said. "Neither a magical nor a physical trace is left of what you did to poor Pettigrew." She regarded Severus sternly. "But that doesn't mean I intend to forget it. I must naturally report the whole affair to Professor Slughorn."

It would only give Slughorn one more reason to dislike Severus. "What about Potter and his gang? They trapped me in an anti-gravity mist. Then Potter hit me with that insect jinx. It's his fault his friend was hurt! If Potter hadn't thrown me off-balance, the Firewhip never would've touched Pettigrew!"

"The Firewhip! Is that what you call it?" said Pomfrey.

"Well--yes," said Severus, realising too late that he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Isn't that a nice name! Very descriptive, I'm sure. Don't you worry about Potter and his friends, Snape. They're Professor McGonagall's responsibility, not yours, and she'll hear about what they did. But I will say this: whatever they did to you, at least you're not lying in a hospital bed because of it. Now, off to Slytherin House with you!" she said, waving him away from Pettigrew's bed toward the door. "I've no doubt Professor Slughorn will want a word with you."

Severus left with his hands clenched in his robe pockets. He didn't doubt it, either. And Slughorn wouldn't see, any more than the rest of them did, how Potter provoked him into lashing out.

Oh, no, Severus thought. When Potter jinxed Severus, it was amusing and clever. When Severus reacted, it was Dark Magic. So what else was new?


	7. Chapter 7

THE LISTENING PARCHMENT

September, 1979

Eight o'clock in the morning came early: too early for Severus, who hadn't found uninterrupted sleep until four-thirty a.m.

He didn't have to be at work that morning until ten-thirty, but he rose at eight nevertheless. He wanted to have breakfast with Mother, since, if all went well, she would be in bed by the time he arrived home.

Severus would see to it that all went well. If Mother was still upset, he really would apologise. He hadn't meant to--what? Shove her? Strike her? He couldn't remember. But he would never have done whatever he had done if Tobias hadn't made him so angry. For that matter, Mother should have seen how angry he was. She should have stayed out of his way.

Never mind. It didn't matter. It would never happen again, and that was that.

Perhaps Mother meant to put it out of her mind too, for, to judge by the aroma of bacon frying (or, rather, burning) which reached Severus's nose as he descended the stairs, she was actually cooking breakfast.

But instead of orchestrating the frying like a witch, with a wave of her wand, Mother muddled through Muggle-fashion, poking around in the pans with a spatula. That explained the burned bacon and watery scrambled eggs which she set before Severus. The same melancholy which had stolen her magic crippled her efforts to learn the skills which might replace it.

Tobias would have complained. But Severus ate heartily. When he was done, he washed down the taste of charred bacon and the feel of cold, congealed eggs with a cup of strong tea.

Mother was good at brewing tea, with or without magic. Sometimes she seemed to live on it. Since Severus had sat down at the table, she'd had two cups of tea and nothing else.

Severus decided not to remark upon it, however. Instead he said, "Do you think you'll be all right today, Mother?"

Mother rose quickly and carried the dirty dishes to the sink. "Why, yes, Severus, I'll be fine," she said, with her back turned and in as bright a tone as she'd managed since he had arrived home the night before.

She turned on the tap and the water flowed noisily. Severus looked at her back and sighed. "Tobias shouldn't be back, if Lindsay did a proper job of Obliviating him," he said. "We couldn't be so unlucky as to have him stumble across your path again while you're taking a walk in the park."

"No one will find me," Mother said, busily rattling the dishes in the sink. "I won't be going out today."

That would work, of course. But to have her brooding alone at home for twelve hours wasn't necessarily a good thing, either. "Even if Tobias comes back while I'm gone, Mrs Watkins can't evict us, Mother. You're ill. You've lost your magic. How can she expect you to help maintain enchantments? As long as you make an effort to get rid of him if he _does_ show up..."

Mother said nothing.

"Mother. Promise me you'll call the hit wizards if you see Tobias so much as wander up the road."

"Of course, Severus," Mother said without looking around. "I promise."

Severus could do no more. He got up from the table and deposited an uncomfortable little peck on the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of lavender which he remembered from his childhood. "I'm off, then, Mother," he said. "I'll see you tonight."

She looked up at him and smiled, then kissed him on the cheek. "Good-bye, Severus."

Out in the lane, walking toward the Floo station, Severus decided he'd been right not to mention what he had done to Mother the night before. She'd forgotten it, and so what good would it have done to fuss her with unnecessary apologies, to pick off the scab from a healing wound?

---

Severus's thoughts abandoned his mother the moment he reached the Potions and Physics Department. Bermsley was there, lurking in a corner and looking sheepish. He often did look sheepish, but this time he had a reason, for Galen Sage and Eugenia Wort were standing in front of the reception desk, facing Severus as he came through the door.

"There you are, Mr Snape!" said Sage, looking his usual cool and dapper self. "We've been waiting for you."

Severus stopped in his tracks. "Oh?" he said, looking from one to the other.

Healer Wort laughed. "Don't look like that, Severus! It's good news. I've just finished rounds in Acute Spell Damage. I expect Auror Dawlish to make a full recovery. I placed him on the stable list this morning, and I plan on discharging him within the week."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Severus. He noticed Bermsley had grown a little less shy. The night-shift Apothecary had moved out of his corner and was casting meaningful glances at the clock.

Sage caught the glances. "Ah, Mr Bermsley," he said. "You can spare Mr Snape to us for a few minutes, I think? Perhaps you could give your shift report to Apothecary Morgan instead."

"Indeed, yes, Abel, it would be a very great help if you could," said Wort, who hadn't stopped smiling. "Severus, Galen, my office, for just a half-hour or so? Tea all around, of course."

Without being large at all, Eugenia Wort seemed to fill the room. In that, and in her shock of silver hair and her sharp blue eyes, she resembled Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps that was why Severus obeyed her without question.

Sage, Wort and Severus Flooed from Potions and Physics to Wort's office on the fourth floor. Furnished with armchairs, a tea table and a roll top desk, it was a much cosier place than Morgan's office. On the wall amid a cluster of diplomas and certificates hung a picture of Healer Wort, obviously on holiday, for she was on a beach, dressed in a bathing costume. Beside her stood a man in bathing trunks, sporting a long grey beard and a huge grin. Every now and then, a young man and woman of about Severus's age ran out of the sea, dripping and laughing, and came up behind Wort and the bearded man.

Severus watched the photograph while Wort produced tea from an ornate silver samovar. Sage had already taken one of the armchairs.

Emerging from a cloud of fragrant steam, Wort said, "Sit down, Severus!" She waved him to the armchair next to Sage. Then, after carrying tea to them both, she turned the chair from her desk and sat facing Severus.

"Yes," she said. "I couldn't be more pleased with Auror Dawlish's progress. And I couldn't be more astonished by the story of how he was healed. Galen tells me you saved his life."

"I was just doing my job," Severus said rather diffidently.

"But that's just it, Mr Snape," said Sage. "It _wasn't_ your job. It was mine. Yet you did it better than I ever could."

Severus didn't know how to answer that. He wished Sage and Wort would just forget about it, but of course they couldn't.

"Don't be anxious, Severus," Wort said. "We're not here to reprimand you, but to thank you. More important than that, we're here to learn from you. The curse left a very strong magical trail in Dawlish's body. From that residue, I parsed the curse's incantation as _Sectumsempra._ I don't doubt that incantation sounds familiar to you."

"Yes." Severus admitted that much at once. He knew Wort by acquaintance and reputation as someone you didn't play games with.

"And Auror Scrimgeour said that a Death Eater cast Sectumsempra on Dawlish," said Sage. "The way things are going these days, I'm afraid we'll soon see more of the curse at St. Mungo's."

"Galen and I would like you to give us the counter-curse, so that we can teach it to our Healers and Trainees," said Wort. She pulled a pouch out of one of the desk drawers. The pouch was fastened by a buckle, which in turn was secured by a small padlock. Wort waved her wand over the padlock, which popped open. She withdrew a parchment from the pouch and handed it to Severus.

Severus unrolled the parchment and saw that it was blank.

"Are you familiar with Listening Parchments?" Healer Wort asked.

"I've heard of them," Severus said. "I've never used one before."

"Your counter to Sectumsempra was very complex, Mr Snape," said Sage. "And you sang the spell. The music is part of the magic, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"We need you to cast it into a Listening Parchment, then. The parchment will record not only the words of the counter and the character of the spell's magic as it flows from your wand, but also the tonalities in your voice as you chant," Sage said. "I don't suppose you have a Soothspell Quill, do you?"

"No," said Severus, who had never heard of a Soothspell Quill.

"I didn't think so," said Sage. "They write only on Listening Parchments, and they're quite dear. Nobody'd buy one who didn't have to. Here, I'll lend you mine." He took a quill from his pocket and handed it to Severus.

To Severus, it looked like an ordinary goose quill, one of those that St. Mungo's bought in bulk and distributed to the various departments.

With a flick of her wand, Wort cleaned the used teacups and sent them flying into a small cupboard behind her samovar. "I tell my Trainees that the Soothspell Quill is like a Quick-Quotes Quill, only more respectable," Wort said, smiling at her own joke. "But they work in pretty much the same way. Spread your Listening Parchment out on the tea table and set the Soothspell Quill on it. Then cast your spell directly at the Parchment, just as if you were trying to mend the effects of Sectumsempra in a real person."

Severus cleared his mind. There were no tears analogous to wounds in the Listening Parchment, nothing for him to repair, so he simply held his wand over the paper and began to sing.

Severus felt the warmth of magic course through his arm to the tips of his fingers and saw the Soothspell Quill leap up to scratch busily over the parchment, forming the words to his incantation. For a few moments, nothing else happened. Then a pearly grey light, the colour of a misty dawn, rose from the parchment. Severus stared at the Listening Parchment, into the bright centre of the light, and continued to sing. The Soothspell Quill continued to etch, in black, flowing script against the shining white of the parchment, the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw the spell-light shining into Wort and Sage's faces, like moonlight reflected off water. It showed the lines that age had etched into their flesh and a childlike wonder in their eyes.

Presently something arose, seemingly from the depths of the Listening Parchment, behind the letters which flowed from the nib of the Soothspell Quill. When it swam into focus, Severus realised he was seeing his own memory of Dawlish's wounds knitting together under the influence of his counter-curse. The vision went even further than Severus's recollection, however, to the point where the red lines of the closed gashes faded into thin, pale scars.

Severus ended the counter-curse with a slight flourish of his wand. The Listening Parchment swallowed up the vision of Dawlish's wounds made whole, along with the incantation written upon it. The pearl-grey light evaporated. Looking again like an ordinary pen and a piece of plain blank parchment, the Soothspell Quill and the Listening Parchment lay side-by-side on Healer Wort's tea table.

"Impressive," Sage remarked after a moment of complete silence had passed. "But then, it _would_ take a powerful piece of Light magic to counteract Sectumsempra."

Wort rolled up the Listening Parchment, returned it to its padlocked pouch and put the pouch back in her desk. "I'm impressed too," she said. "Do you have a name for your counter-curse?"

"Textum," said Severus.

"Textum." Wort repeated it with a crisp nod, as if confirming the rightness of the name. "Where did you learn Textum?"

"At school," Severus replied.

"At school," Sage echoed quietly. "And did you learn Sectumsempra at school too?"

"Yes," Severus said firmly, even daring to look Sage in the eye.

"Yes? How could you have learned at Hogwarts the same spell that brought down Auror Dawlish?"

"It wasn't as strong then, and not that many people knew it," said Severus. "But those who did weren't usually the sort who'd give you fair warning before casting a curse. I learned Sectumsempra because I wanted to see if I could develop a spell to counter it."

"I see," Sage replied.

"Textum is a very potent Light spell," Wort said. "The Listening Parchment's response to it made that clear." She and Sage gazed at Severus in a way that made him rather uncomfortable. "I'm surprised you thought you needed such strong magic to counter schoolboy curses."

Severus shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Dawlish's cuts were worse than anything I'd seen in school. Maybe I just reacted instinctively with a stronger counter-curse."

"Luckily, you don't have to cast Sectumsempra into the Listening Parchment," Sage said dryly. "Unless that's a song as well?"

"Hardly," Wort said, and Severus certainly had no objection to her answering Sage's question. "It's nothing more than a word, with a very nasty intent behind it. One step below an Unforgivable now, whatever it may have been while Severus was in school. In fact, that's how I'll classify it when I send it over to Magical Law Enforcement."

"I'm sure Barty Crouch will be grateful you've parsed _that_ curse for him," said Sage.

"Maybe. I don't know that gratitude's Barty's strong suit, though," Wort said.

After another silence, Severus ventured to ask, "It's all right, then? You don't mind if I return to work?"

"Heavens, no!" said Wort. "I know you've got plenty to do. And thank you so much for helping us out."

"Indeed, yes, we're very grateful," Sage said, shaking Severus's hand. "Thank you."

As far as Severus could tell, they were as satisfied as they said they were, so he stepped with some relief into Wort's fireplace, to Floo back to the Potions and Physics Department.

---

Severus was in the brewing room, straining burn-healing paste, when emerald flames burst up in the fireplace and Lily Potter's head appeared in the grate.

"Hello, Severus," she said.

"Hello," he replied. "Oh, are you calling about the burn-healing paste? I've just brewed a fresh batch; it's cooling right now. I'll bring A&E's stock over on my way to lunch."

"That's what I called about. Lunch, I mean, not burn-healing paste." She sounded hesitant. "Do you mind if I eat with you?"

Severus couldn't say he minded. He also couldn't remember her asking him to do anything with her since they'd been at Hogwarts. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Why--nothing. I just wanted to talk with you about something, that's all. But if you'd rather not--"

Now Severus was curious. "No, no, I don't mind. I'll meet you in A&E in an hour, when I bring the stock potions, and we can go to lunch from there."

"Oh, good! Thanks, Severus. I'll see you then."

Before Severus could say, "You're welcome," the Floo-fire winked out, and Lily Potter's image disappeared.

---

The staff cafeteria was serving up a blandly inoffensive meal that afternoon, lamb chop, potatoes, peas and pumpkin juice, which Severus and Lily carried to their table.

It was the height of the lunch hour, and witches and wizards crowded the cafeteria, chattering at all the tables around them. Severus and Lily arranged themselves at their table without saying anything of importance to each other and ate for the first few minutes in silence.

It didn't matter to Severus. He was used to eating in silence, because he was used to eating alone. He doubted Lily was similarly untroubled. At Hogwarts, she had always been surrounded by a ring of friends, and Severus usually saw her around St. Mungo's with the other Trainees. He didn't see it as his task, however, to make her comfortable by saying stupid things about subjects that bored him. He hated small talk, and she, after all, was the one who had wanted this meeting.

Lily had finished half her lamb chop before she said, "I hear Auror Dawlish will be discharged at the end of the week."

"That's good news," Severus answered.

Lily set her knife and fork on her plate. "Galen Sage told me what those Death Eaters threw at Dawlish was some of the Darkest magic he's ever sensed. And Galen's been a Healer for forty years."

Severus ate the last of his boiled potatoes. When he looked up, he saw that Lily, having nudged her plate aside, was leaning on her elbows and watching him.

"How did you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Oh, sack that. You know what I mean. How did you heal Auror Dawlish? How did you know the counter-curse to Sectumsempra?"

"Sectumsempra," Severus repeated. He hadn't told her the spell's name. Where had she heard it?

Lily immediately answered his unspoken question. "Eugenia Wort parsed the curse. As soon as she'd worked it out, she had Galen and me in for rounds on Dawlish. She didn't say much about how the curse had been countered, but everybody knows you did it. It's all over the hospital. What nobody knows is _how_ you did it."

"You will soon," said Severus. "I cast the counter-curse into one of Healer Wort's Listening Parchments. I'm sure it won't be long before Sage and Wort start teaching it to the Trainees."

"They'd better," Lily said with a peculiar intensity. "Dawlish is the first person I've seen hit with Sectumsempra, but I bet he won't be the last."

Severus said nothing. He wanted to risk no chance of betraying the vast relief he felt at this new confirmation of Lily's ignorance of the curse. He busied himself with his pumpkin juice instead.

"Or maybe he's not the first," Lily said thoughtfully.

Though his glass wasn't quite empty, Severus set it back down. "I beg your pardon?"

Lily didn't answer at once. She began twisting her wedding and engagement rings around on the third finger of her left hand.

It was an absurd little nervous tic, which Severus found unreasonably irritating. That and the rings themselves, which were far too ornate for the kind of work a Healer's hands did. Well, the wedding band was acceptable, he supposed. The other Healers wore theirs. But the engagement ring, set with three square-cut emeralds and a dozen diamond chips--that was a bit much.

Of course, it was none of Severus's business. It was up to Healer Sage to see that his Trainee's attire met the requirements of the dress code.

"I _have _seen Sectumsempra before, haven't I, Severus?" Lily asked.

Severus stared at Lily and then looked away. He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach: apparently he had been too quick to rejoice over her ignorance. "Have you really?" he asked weakly.

"Yes," said Lily. Severus could feel her eyes on him. He didn't dare to meet them. "By the Hogwarts Lake. In fifth year, after O.W.L.s."

Severus looked up. "What?" he said, baffled.

"I saw you cast a spell that cut James's cheek."

In fifth year, after O.W.L.s-- "Oh, _that,_" he said, in sudden and resentful comprehension. "You can hardly compare that spell to what happened to Dawlish, can you?"

She kept fiddling with the rings Potter had placed on her finger. "I suppose not. It's just that...." She paused. "Well, you remember sixth-year Potions, when we used to be partners sometimes?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"I used to look over your shoulder at your textbook, because you'd written useful little tweakings for the potions in there, bits of notes in the margins."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," said Severus.

"And not only notes on potions," Lily continued. "It looked as though you were working on spells in your textbook too."

"I expect you have a point?"

Lily stopped twisting her rings and put her hands beneath the table. "I remember when we were kids. You used to show me magic I'd never seen before." The lamb and potatoes swam around in Severus's stomach. Blushing faintly, Lily averted her eyes for a moment. Then she continued. "Those spells you wrote down. Were they yours? Did you invent them?"

"Why do you ask?" said Severus, though he thought he knew the answer.

"It's just that I remember seeing the word 'Sectumsempra' in your _Advanced Potion-Making_." Lily hesitated before going on. "And under it you'd written, 'For Enemies.'"

He hadn't enjoyed it at the time, but now Severus was glad he'd already been interrogated on this topic by Scrimgeour, Sage and Wort. "You haven't the courage to come out and say it, Healer Potter, so I'll say it for you. You're suggesting I invented the curse that nearly killed Auror Dawlish. That _would_ have killed him, if I hadn't intervened."

"Well, not exactly--"

"'Not exactly?'" Severus interrupted. "I'm delighted to hear you're 'not exactly' intimating I'm capable of murder."

Lily looked exasperated. "All I'm saying is that the incantation in your book was the same as the incantation Eugenia parsed from the magical residue the curse left in Dawlish's body. It looks as though somebody's enhanced Sectumsempra since you cast it on James. But that _was_ Sectumsempra you cast on James. _Wasn't_ it?"

Severus glanced at the tables nearest them before answering. Everyone around them was talking at least as loudly as they were, and no one seemed to have heard them. That was a good thing, because he didn't dare cast Muffliato in this crowd. The witches and wizards of St. Mungo's were sharp enough to know when a spell was tampering with their hearing.

"What if it was?" he said. "That doesn't mean I invented it."

"Where did you pick it up, then?"

"It was going around the school."

"What part of the school? Slytherin House? I never saw it before--before that day by the lake."

"Yes," Severus said. He wasn't sixteen any longer. He could look straight at her and go on coolly. "You remember that day. So you'll appreciate that afterward I made it my goal to learn to counter any aggressive new spells I saw going around. And, as Auror Scrimgeour didn't fail to remind me, you have to learn the stronger curses in order to counter them."

"Auror Scrimgeour?" asked Lily. "Oh! Is that what you and he were on about yesterday?"

"Yes. He was interrogating me in the meditation room and used Legilimency without warning, after I told him what I've just told you. I was caught off guard, and I reacted with a Shield Charm." Severus smiled cynically. "He thought I was lying, you see. Evidently, he shares your suspicions about me."

Lily's colour deepened. "I never meant to imply--I just wondered, that's all."

"You wondered whether I could be as bad as Potter always said I was. Well, I don't know where Sectumsempra came from," Severus said. "I saw people use it, and I thought it was another fad. Like Levicorpus."

At the mention of the second spell, Lily turned redder yet. Emboldened, Severus went on, spinning out the lie which would protect him.

"I had to learn the counter-curse to Sectumsempra, so I had to learn Sectumsempra itself. I mean, what if I couldn't deflect it in time? What if too many people ganged up at once to cast it on me, like Potter and his friends?"

Lily's embarrassment turned to anger. "James would _never_ cast a spell like that!"

"Oh, wouldn't he?" Severus retorted. "I don't recall him sticking at much else in those days."

_"You're_ the one who cast it on _him!"_

A few people at neighbouring tables looked at them.

"Why are you raising your voice, Healer Potter?" Severus asked, though, truth to tell, to see her as angry as he felt was not wholly unsatisfying. "If you don't like the conversation, you shouldn't have started it. As I was trying to say, I taught myself the counter-curse in self-defence."

Lily pressed her lips together in a thin white line. Then she took a deep breath. "Sectumsempra isn't one of your inventions, then?"

"Certainly not!" said Severus. Lily stared at him for a few moments, but she was no Scrimgeour, no Legilimens. If she was trying to pierce his thoughts, she did not succeed.

"Good," Lily said. "You don't want to look nowadays as though you know too much about a spell like that."

"No, indeed," Severus answered astringently. "The people who can't believe you're Dark enough to have invented it yourself could start to wonder who taught it to you. _Couldn't_ they?"

Avoiding Severus's eyes, Lily didn't answer.

They were both silent for a while. Then, with a forced smile, Lily looked up. "Oh! I meant to tell you, we're nearly out of Murtlap Essence in A&E, and I forgot to note that on the stock order this morning. Do you think you could bring some over with the afternoon deliveries?"

Severus readily agreed: whether he had managed to force the change of topic or not, he was certainly relieved by it. He and Lily continued discussing the minutiae of keeping a busy department supplied with potions until a young wizard came round to their table, Vanished the uneaten food on their plates and added their dirty dishes to the tall stack he was Levitating before him. Then they left the cafeteria. In the corridor, they quickly parted ways, both assuring each other that, as they were late getting back to work as it was, they didn't have any more time to chat.


	8. Chapter 8

CALLED ON THE CARPET

Autumn, 1975

Severus Snape sat in a high-backed chair in a corner of the Slytherin common room, _Advanced Potion-Making _open on his lap. He was revising the recipe for the Everlasting Elixir. He had thought, upon his return from the hospital wing, that he might as well make good use of his time while he waited for Professor Slughorn to lower the boom.

Several of the sixth-year Slytherins had expressed their eagerness to study with Severus before he had left Hogsmeade that afternoon. Nobody sat next to him now, asking for help on the eighteen inches of parchment which was due on the collection and purpose of the ingredients in Everlasting Elixirs. No one was begging to be allowed to look over his shoulder while they brewed the potion in class tomorrow, so that they could imitate what he did.

Ruskin, Lestrange and Rosier had nodded politely enough when Severus had entered the common room. But, along with everyone else, they avoided him. Obviously, the whole House knew about the Firewhip that Severus had cast on Pettigrew that afternoon, and, until they knew what his punishment would be, they didn't want to associate with him. After all, the tarnish on his reputation might rub off on anybody who appeared to be his friend.

The stone door to the dungeon common room slid back, and Hector, Professor Slughorn's Ural owl, flew inside. The owl swooped over to Severus and, uncurling his talons, dropped a letter on to Severus's open book.

Severus opened the letter and read:

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_I have heard from Madam Pomfrey about the events of this afternoon and would like to discuss them with you. Please come to my office at once._

_Professor Horace Slughorn_

Severus slid his Potions book into his bag. He went up to the dormitory and locked his book bag in his trunk. When he came down again, he ignored the stares that followed him out of the common room.

"He's got some nerve, making Slughorn wait!" Regulus Black said, just before the common room door closed behind Severus. Severus thought he heard more admiration than disgust in Regulus's voice, but he didn't care one way or the other. He was not about to leave his books, particularly his Potions textbook, lying about in the open for anyone to see.

---

Severus trudged through the torch-lit labyrinth of corridors to Professor Slughorn's office. As soon as he knocked on the door, Slughorn called him in.

As ever, Severus was struck by the contrast between Slughorn's office and the rest of Slytherin House's underground domain. A huge fire crackled in the grate, making the office much warmer than the rest of the dungeon. Instead of torches in brackets smoking up the bare stone walls, there were candles in sconces casting clear light on embroidered tapestries. A plush carpet woven with an intricately-winding design of vines and flowers covered the floor. Professor Slughorn, wearing a smoking jacket of burgundy velvet and an identically-coloured woollen beret, sat behind the most elaborately carved desk Severus had ever seen.

But the desk was nothing in comparison to the cabinet which held Professor Slughorn's private store of potion ingredients. The cabinet had indigo doors inlaid with a veritable galaxy of stars, moons and planets. Its legs were carved in the shape of dolphins whose eyes bulged in perpetual alarm. On the top of the cabinet, two gilt cherubs paused mid-gambol and glared balefully at Severus.

Slughorn looked at the cherubs and sighed in exasperation. "Oh, come on. What's this all about? You've seen Severus before. Besides, I'm here. Everything's perfectly safe." The cherubs' frowns turned to dimpled smiles, and they resumed their fluttering dance on top of the cabinet.

"I don't know what's got into them tonight, but they do tend to be suspicious," Slughorn explained. "They let out the most ear-splitting howls if anybody besides me so much as touches that cabinet." He waved at the puffy armchair opposite his desk. "Sit down, sit down."

Severus sat, sinking a good six inches into the cushions. Slughorn took the lid off a glass jar at the corner of his desk and held the jar out to Severus. "Crystallised pineapple?"

"No, thank you, Professor." Severus tried not to make a face, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Sighing at Severus's rebuff of his hospitality, Slughorn closed the jar without taking any pineapple for himself. Sitting back and folding his hands over his ample belly, he looked at Severus in silence for a few moments.

"Those Gryffindor boys, James Potter and his friends," said Slughorn. "Is it true they did no more to you at first than send an anti-gravity mist across the road?"

"James Potter cast an insect jinx on me," said Severus.

"I said 'at first'," Slughorn replied gently. "Let's keep things in order, shall we?"

_Or let's just ignore what Potter did entirely, shall we? _Biting back that retort, Severus said nothing.

"All right," said Slughorn. "Let me try putting this another way. Your walking into an anti-gravity mist on the way back from Hogsmeade is what precipitated the fracas which took place between you and the Gryffindors. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Madam Pomfrey called me as soon as you left the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall has also given me her students' side of the story. Apparently, as soon as Mr Lupin released you from the mist, you and the Gryffindor boys began bickering. Spells were thrown. Mr Potter cast an insect jinx at you. The Firewhip you were casting at him went wide as you fell to the ground, and it struck Peter Pettigrew instead."

Severus didn't answer.

"So far, so good?" Slughorn urged.

"Yes, sir," said Severus.

"Can you explain to me why you felt you had to answer essentially harmless spells like the anti-gravity mist, the insect jinx and the slug-vomiting curse with what Madam Pomfrey tells me is the Darkest spell she's ever known a student to cast at Hogwarts?"

"I wouldn't call a slug-vomiting curse harmless!"

Slughorn jumped, his eyes starting out of his head like those of the dolphins which adorned his cabinet. "No need to shout, Severus," he said. "I'm not deaf, you know."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Severus, already regretting an outburst which could hardly improve Slughorn's opinion of him.

"Apology accepted." Slughorn blinked and settled back. "I agree with you that a slug-vomiting curse is uncomfortable. But the effects wear off in a half-hour or so, without your needing to spend any time in the hospital wing. While your Firewhip, on the other hand, burned off the top layer of Mr Pettigrew's skin." His voice hardened slightly. "You could not have failed to notice that you caused Mr Pettigrew a great deal of pain."

Severus shifted in his chair. He had not forgotten Peter Pettigrew's screams.

"Well?" Slughorn asked sternly.

"Erm--yes, sir," Severus said.

Slughorn said nothing. He rose and paced around his office, which was for him an excess of nervous activity. Perhaps he was cold, for when he stopped to stare at the doors of his ingredients cabinet, he shivered.

"You told Madam Pomfrey that you'd invented the Firewhip," Professor Slughorn said.

"Yes, sir."

"And you're the young fellow who uses night-owl eyes in his Antisomnia Infusion." Professor Slughorn turned from his cabinet to look at Severus. "Do you remember Miss Evans's answer on the first day of term, when I asked the class to give me the uses of the Antisomnia Infusion?"

Of course Severus did, since he'd known the answer as well as Lily had done. "The Antisomnia Infusion will rouse a person from deep unconsciousness," he replied crisply.

"That's right," Slughorn said, though he didn't look as though Severus's answer had pleased him. "And an Antisomnia Infusion made with night-owl eyes provides even greater stimulation," he continued. "It rouses the subject much faster and keeps him awake longer." Slughorn glanced into a shadowy corner, where his owl sat on its perch. "You saw the way Hector flew off after I gave him only two drops of your and Miss Evans's Antisomnia Infusion. He didn't come back for two days."

Professor Slughorn returned to his desk and sat down. He leaned forward on his elbows and rested his chin on his folded hands. A flickering reflection of the candlelight danced in his protuberant eyes.

"It's odd that you should know how to brew that version of the potion, Severus," he said. "You see, only two sorts of wizards use night-owl eyes in their Antisomnia Infusions. The first are Healers who are trying to bring patients back from the point of death. Often, these are victims of Stunnings so severe that their brains have practically stopped functioning, or people who have been tortured so brutally by the Cruciatus Curse that they're in deep physical shock."

Professor Slughorn paused, but Severus said nothing. He was remembering the trips he had taken with Mother to the Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. It had been a dingier place than its counterpart in Diagon Alley: a dusty little shop with grimy windows, shrouded in a perpetual gloom which neither candles nor fires could dispel.

Shelves sagging under jars of cloudy liquid lined the walls of the Knockturn Alley Apothecary. In the liquid floated bits of plants and animals, which Severus found both fascinating and repellent. Behind the counter stood a taciturn shopkeeper, with a face as wrinkled as a walnut shell. In exchange for the Galleons which Mother scraped from the bottom of her wallet, the shopkeeper presented her with a tiny cloth bag from a drawer in the decrepit cupboard behind him, a bag which contained exactly two ounces of night-owl eyes.

Later at home, Mother would prepare the night-owl eyes and add them to her Antisomnia Infusion. Early the next morning, she would instil a couple of drops of the finished potion into a glass of water. Then she would cast the Carmenoris on an insensible Tobias, charming his throat to swallow before pouring the water into his mouth, because he was so dead drunk he would otherwise have inhaled the water and drowned himself.

Tobias would wake feeling fit as a fiddle, ready for the double shift at the mill which would put food on his family's table and pay the mortgage on the house in Spinner's End, for he could hold his whisky, by God, as well as any man and better than most.

To this day, Tobias didn't know why he had been able to hold his drink so much better then than he could now. He knew nothing about the Antisomnia Infusion which Mother, since her magic had grown so erratic, was no longer able to brew for him.

"The other sort," said Slughorn, "are Dark wizards."

Severus started. "What, sir?"

"I think you heard me, Severus," Professor Slughorn said quietly. "I said that Dark wizards are the only other people besides Healers who use night-owl eyes in their Antisomnia Infusions. Do you know why?"

"Er, no, Professor."

"Dark wizards use the night-owl version of the potion to help them make Inferi."

Severus's jaw dropped. _"What?"_

"It takes a certain familiarity with the Healer's art, as you can imagine," Slughorn continued. He wasn't enjoying the subject, clearly. There was a faint gleam of sweat on his forehead, and he seemed to be making an effort to keep his voice calm. "One must wait until the dying person's soul has actually begun to slip away before one administers the Antisomnia Infusion. If you give it too soon, you revive him. If you wait too long, well--you've waited too long. He's dead."

Mother had never--Mother _would_ never--"Why are you bringing this up now?" Severus demanded

"The Antisomnia Infusion, you mean?"

"Yes! Sir," Severus remembered to add. "I mean, I made the Antisomnia Infusion two months ago. You didn't say anything about Inferi then!"

"Where did you learn to add night-owl eyes to the Antisomnia Infusion?"

What was Slughorn saying, that he suspected Severus of creating Inferi? Severus, choking back one angry reply after another, couldn't answer.

"Never mind," said Slughorn. "I suppose it's not really important. You're not a Healer, and you're certainly not the sort of Dark wizard who can raise an Inferius. Though you do seem to have a bent for Dark magic. I remember when you first came to Hogwarts--as if it were yesterday; dear me, how time flies! When you were in first year, you seemed to know more curses than half the pupils in seventh year. Now I'd say you're best of all the students in that particular discipline, in my recent memory, anyway."

Severus did nothing to fill the silence that followed.

"You know, Severus, it's not a good thing to delve too deeply into the Dark Arts," Slughorn said at last. "In the first place--well, let's be perfectly blunt about it. We beat around the bush here at Hogwarts. We teach our students practical defences against the Dark Arts from the first year, but we don't go enough into what's essentially wrong with practising Dark magic. The fact is, an overly avid pursuit of the Dark Arts can damage your soul in a way that is very difficult to mend. I knew a wizard once, a young man like yourself--"

The flicker of fear that passed through Slughorn's eyes intrigued Severus. "Did you, sir?" he said, hoping Slughorn would go on.

"I did, but that was a very long time ago," Slughorn said. "Suffice to say that I know what I'm talking about."

"But I don't understand, sir," Severus said, in as earnest a tone as he could manage. "What about Salazar Slytherin? He was very knowledgeable about the Dark Arts. He didn't seem to fear them. At least, that's what _others_ say about him."

"If you're trying to compare your plight with that of Salazar Slytherin, you won't find any sympathy here," Slughorn said, his voice suddenly sharp. "Salazar Slytherin was a powerful wizard with the maturity to understand exactly how far he could go, not a schoolboy out for revenge any way he could get it. Don't look to be granted Slytherin's rights, my boy, until you have Slytherin's mastery."

The interview was going pretty much as Severus had expected it would: he was getting all the blame. He gritted his teeth and said nothing.

"Though in the current political climate, I rather doubt even Salazar Slytherin would be given much leeway for studying the Dark Arts," Slughorn said a bit more calmly. "I know people of your age don't follow the news much, but ever since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named began gathering followers and committing atrocities, the Ministry of Magic has been directing a rather jaundiced eye at Slytherin House. It seems that most of the witches and wizards who have been revealed as Death Eaters are Slytherin alumni. You might want to keep that in mind, Severus. For a boy like you, the next worst thing to damaging your soul would be to damage your good name. If you develop a reputation for dabbling in the Dark Arts, you're likely to find yourself without any prospects of gainful employment once you leave Hogwarts."

By now, Severus was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. But that didn't matter, for resentment choked him so much he couldn't speak. Did other students hate their Head of House as much as he sometimes hated Slughorn? If that pampered lickspittle cared so much for Severus's prospects, why hadn't he invited Severus into the Slug Club?

"Do you understand me, Severus?" Slughorn asked.

"Yes, sir," Severus gritted out.

"I hope so," said Slughorn. "But enough of the lecture. I'll ask that you report to Madam Pomfrey after lessons tomorrow so that she can assign you a detention. In the infirmary, perhaps, so that you can learn something about how difficult it is to mend the depredations caused by inconsiderate spellcasting. But I'll leave that up to her. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. I'll let you go, then, since staying longer seems to be the very last thing you want. Good night."

Severus left as quickly as he dared, for Slughorn had got one thing right: Severus didn't enjoy his company.

Severus saw no one in the common room on his return but Olaus Ruskin, who, thank heaven, did not press him for any details of his meeting with Slughorn. Ruskin merely eyed him for a moment, said good-night and went back to reading his book.

Severus, heartily glad the day was over, went to his dormitory. Again he thanked his rare good fortune that everyone else in the sixth-years' dormitory was asleep. Or at least they acted like it, which, Severus thought as he crawled into bed, was good enough for him.


	9. Chapter 9

THE PURE-BLOOD PRINCES

October, 1979

Exotic curses were the norm at St Mungo's Hospital, so within a couple of weeks, the hubbub about the new curse Sectumsempra and the nearly-new Apothecary who had countered it had died down. Severus couldn't deny that he had enjoyed the admiration while it had lasted. But he didn't regret it when new maladies distracted the staff's attention from a curse which, for him, had raised far too many uncomfortable questions.

To his relief, no one else afflicted by Sectumsempra appeared in Accident and Emergency. Victims of other dangerous curses were showing up in ever greater numbers, however, so that every day in Potions and Physics passed in a whirlwind of brewing and dispensing.

One of the worst days came in mid-October. The demand for potions in A&E and Acute Spell Damage had been so great that Potions and Physics had run out of vital ingredients, and Severus had had to spend twice as long in the brewing room, tweaking the potions that used those ingredients so that they would still be potent without them.

Severus couldn't remember ever being so glad to see Bermsley walk through the department door. He rushed through his end-of-shift report, Flooed down to the lobby and was standing in the queue before a public fireplace near the reception desk, trying to stifle his yawns of exhaustion, when he heard his name called.

"Severus! _There_ you are!"

Severus saw to his surprise that it was Lucius Malfoy. The crowd parted before Lucius as if in instinctive respect for his haughty bearing, his upper-class accent and the fine wool robes and silk hat that he wore. Or perhaps that was all in Severus's imagination, for few of those who made way for Lucius gave him a second glance.

"Hello, Lucius," said Severus.

"Good heavens, it's nearly eight o'clock!" Lucius said, looking at a pendulum clock on the wall, above a row of portraits of famous Healers. "They do keep you late, don't they? I've been waiting for you since seven-fifteen." He beckoned to Severus. "Come, I want to buy you a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, and dinner too, if you haven't had it yet."

Lucius's invitation was even more surprising than his presence. "I--I'm sorry," stammered Severus. "I can't. My mother...." He felt a flush creep into his face.

"Is having tea with Narcissa," Lucius said. He smiled at Severus's look of disbelief. "And as Narcissa has already told your mother we're spending the evening at the Leaky Cauldron, you simply must come with me."

His jaw still slack with astonishment, Severus left the queue. Immediately Lucius took his arm and steered him past the reception desk toward the street entrance.

"Did I hear you right?" Severus asked in a low voice. "Narcissa's with my mother? At _our_ house?"

"And why shouldn't a Malfoy, _née _Black, drink tea with a Prince?"

"Because--"

"Enough of this, Severus. If it needs talking about, we'll talk about it at the Cauldron."

They passed through the department store facade which disguised St. Mungo's from the Muggles, slipped into a nearby alley and Apparated into the tiny courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. Lucius led Severus into the bar.

"Is my parlour ready, Tom?" Lucius said to the landlord.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy." Tom bowed them into a private dining room with a heavy-beamed ceiling, smoke-blackened walls and a flagged floor. He pointed his wand at the hearth, and a fire sprang up in the grate.

"Have you eaten yet, Severus?" Lucius asked.

Severus hadn't had the time, so Lucius ordered dinner for two and a bottle of wine. As soon as the landlord had left, Severus asked, "Why is Narcissa visiting my mother?"

Lucius laughed. "Blunt as ever? No time for small talk? Well, I can't say that I blame you. Though you don't ask why _I'm_ eating dinner with _you."_

"You and I have eaten together before," said Severus. "At the Manor, after Olaus Ruskin's death."

"Yes, but that was purely business. All Narcissa wants is to try to make up for the way she and her family have treated your mother all these years."

Tom brought the wine. Lucius poured it out, handed Severus his glass and they both sat down before the fire.

"My mother," Severus said. "Mrs Tobias Snape, of Spinner's End, Huddersfield." He laid emphasis on the plain surname and the mill district address.

"Your mother," Lucius repeated delicately. "Eileen Prince, of the pure-blood Prince family. Tobias Snape doesn't live with her, does he?"

No Malfoy husband ever abandoned his family, of course, and no Malfoy wife ever sent her husband packing. Lucius's carefully neutral tone was in itself a judgement of the conduct of his inferiors.

Severus couldn't bring himself to answer before Lucius said, "Nevertheless, Mrs Snape she remains."

Meaning what? Severus wondered. That she had not descended to the further disgrace of divorce?

"Yes," Lucius continued, seemingly unaware of the emotions roiling under Severus's surface calm. "Narcissa and I have cut Mrs Snape in the past. Narcissa tells me we were very wrong to do so. She feels the wrong most acutely and wishes to remedy it, and, given the fact that Mrs Snape is _your_ mother, I can't help but agree with her."

"You do?" Severus still could not get over his astonishment. "And how do your families feel about it?"

"Oh, well, Cygnus. Narcissa's father, you know. He was something of a tyrant, and he only got worse toward the end. But now that he's gone, Druella has loosened up considerably. Narcissa says she's raised no objection whatsoever."

"And the Malfoys?"

"I have always done as I pleased," said Lucius coolly.

That was true enough, Severus thought.

"But enough about me," Lucius went on. "What about you and your family? Your mother, I mean." Lucius rearranged his face into an expression of concern. "Mother tells me that she and Olaus Ruskin's mother were great friends at school, that Felicity Ruskin was asking after Mrs Snape at Olaus's memorial service."

Excruciating as the memory was, Severus could not forget Mrs Ruskin's red eyes and tentative, almost pleading tone: _"How __is__ your mother, Severus? It's been so long...I hope she's well?"_

"My mother sent Mrs Ruskin a sympathy letter," Severus replied evasively.

"I understand." Lucius paused, as if searching for the right words. "Mrs Snape is--unwell."

"She hasn't had the full use of her magic for years," Severus said bluntly. "And it's getting worse."

"So very unfortunate," Lucius murmured. "If only something could be done..."

Silence hung between them for a few moments. Severus was grateful to the landlord for breaking it when he brought in their dinner. Severus and Lucius took their wine to the table and tucked in to beef stew and a loaf of fresh, fragrant bread.

After a couple of minutes, Lucius dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Speaking of Ruskin, we've all been rather fortunate. Well, not Ruskin, of course, since he's dead. I mean you, Potter, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement--and me most of all. I pride myself that my hand in hushing up the Azkaban affair isn't obvious at all."

Severus busied himself with his stew and remained silent.

Lucius grinned at him. "Allow me my boast, Severus. You haven't seen it mentioned in the _Daily Prophet_, have you? Or heard anyone talk about it at St. Mungo's?"

No, he hadn't. Even Apothecary Morgan hadn't breathed a word of any of it since the day she had told him to get rid of the Hidden Hellebore.

"Of course the Ministry were quite keen on sweeping it all under the rug," said Lucius. "Well, who can blame them? Fifty dementors, supposedly under the supervision of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, breaking loose and sucking the soul out of a prisoner before his interrogators, an apprentice Auror and a newly-qualified Apothecary, could get them under control. How does that make the lot of them look, I ask you?"

The last thing Olaus Ruskin had done in this life was scream. Long and loud. Remembering it, Severus drained his wineglass and set it down hard on the table. "We didn't get the dementors under control," he said.

"No, scattering them to the four winds with a linked Patronus Charm was not _exactly_ the same thing as getting them under control. And of course you and Potter rowing was what aroused the dementors in the first place. But that's the very last part of the business which will ever come out, since it's as much an embarrassment to the people who forced you into the Azkaban project as it is to you." Lucius buttered the last of his bread, popped it into his mouth and washed it down with wine. "So everything's hushed up and everybody's happy."

"I owe you a great deal, Lucius," said Severus.

"Think nothing of it!" Lucius pulled Severus's glass to him, refilled it and slid it back. "I did it all so that you would be safe," he said. "More importantly, I wanted you to _feel_ safe."

"That's very kind of you."

Lucius smiled. "Of course it was. And so you're asking yourself why I really did it."

Severus made no attempt to deny it.

"You're right," said Lucius. "There's something in it for me too. You see, I very much want you to take me up on that suggestion I made to you the last time we talked."

The last time they had talked was in the park at Malfoy Manor, when Lucius had asked him if he wanted to meet Lord Voldemort.

Severus had said yes, for he had wondered at the strange glow in Lucius's eyes when he had displayed his Dark Mark. He had wondered at Olaus Ruskin's closemouthed loyalty to the only wizard he'd ever acknowledged as his master, to the point of the Dementor's Kiss and beyond.

"I agreed to it then," said Severus. "But you never followed up on your invitation."

"Were you all that eager that I should have done?" Lucius said shrewdly.

"I had second thoughts," Severus said. "Why not? I'd seen how the Ministry treats Death Eaters. I'm surprised _you're_ not more frightened."

"I knew you'd never betray me," Lucius said with a certain satisfaction. "And if you had," he added, "I could have seen to it that nobody believed you."

"Because of the Hidden Hellebore," Severus said.

"Yes, because you were caught formulating a forbidden substance, with which you could have committed murder," said Lucius. "And because you have less money and muddier blood than I do. You should never underestimate the importance of _that_, no matter how the Muggle-lovers rant."

At least Lucius was honest, and why shouldn't he be? He had no need to mince words around Severus. "I'd have no objection to meeting Voldemort, as long as you could guarantee I'd be safe."

"I would really prefer, Severus, that you not speak his name."

The warmth was gone from Lucius's voice. "I'm sorry," Severus said, disconcerted.

"No harm done--as of yet. But you really shouldn't bandy about that name. It has a power you can't possibly understand." An eerie light flickered briefly through Lucius's eyes. "Though you may come to. I've told him about you, you know. I took the liberty--since you did say, at the Manor, that you'd meet him."

"You've told him about me," Severus repeated slowly. He wasn't sure he liked that.

"About your disillusionment with the Ministry. Your circumstances. And your undoubted talents."

Severus couldn't remember Lucius talking up his talents to anyone or even mentioning that he believed Severus had any talents. He decided against saying so, however.

"My circumstances?" he said instead.

"What you do for a living, who your family are. Only in the vaguest terms of course," Lucius said. "Anyway, he's staying with me in the country, and he'd like to meet you."

Severus was silent for a while. He thought of the ever-present, bone-biting cold of Azkaban, of the constant pall of gloom unnatural even to a prison. He remembered the Defences-Downdraught he had brewed there, and the prisoner whose defences the potion had so effectively pulled down. He still had nightmares about the part he had played in creating the vacant husk which was the last he had seen of Olaus Ruskin. And he couldn't forget who had blackmailed him into playing that part: Thom Reid, the Warden of Azkaban, another minion of the Ministry of Magic.

"I haven't changed my mind," said Severus. "I meant what I said to you after Ruskin died. I would like to meet your Lord--" he stopped himself just before saying "Voldemort." Yet he disdained the childish-sounding "You-Know-Who."

"I would like to meet the Dark Lord," Severus said finally.

"Good. _Very _good." Lucius couldn't quite hide the triumph in his voice, but Severus was neither surprised nor offended by it. Lucius would add to Voldemort's followers if Severus became his newest recruit, and the one great strength of an opponent to established authority was in numbers. If he succeeded in bringing Severus into the fold, why shouldn't Lucius look forward to a reward?

_If_ Severus came into the fold. "That doesn't mean I'll join him," said Severus. "I want that clear before I'll meet your Dark Lord. I've heard he's had people killed for refusing to join the Death Eaters."

Lucius waved airily. "It's all lies. Don't you think that if Barty Crouch could pin that on any one of us, he'd have clapped him in Azkaban?"

"Yes," said Severus. "Although, just because Crouch hasn't found evidence for it doesn't mean it hasn't been done."

"Oh, come, Severus, now you're talking like one of them!"

"I want your promise, Lucius. If after meeting your Lord, I decide I want nothing more to do with him, I want your promise that none of you will hurt me in any way."

"Of course," said Lucius, smiling benevolently. "A bit of a Memory Charm, so slight you'll never notice. How could that hurt?"

The memory of no more than a few hours would be erased from his mind, Severus thought: for why should it take longer than that to learn what Voldemort had to offer, and to decide whether he wanted to accept it?

"Do I have your promise?" said Severus.

"You have my promise," Lucius answered. "Now, then. When can you come down to the Manor to meet him?"

Severus considered it. He had scattered days off here and there, but if he was to see to Mother and the house before spending those hours at Malfoy Manor... "A weekend day would be best, but it's ten days until my next weekend off."

"Perfect!" said Lucius. "I hope you can spend the entire weekend with us."

"I couldn't leave Mother for that long," said Severus.

"Of course. Though Narcissa, I am sure, would be happy to spend a day with her. A little early Christmas shopping, perhaps."

Severus still could not get used to the idea of Narcissa Malfoy actually wanting to spend time with his mother. "We'll see...Mother and I wouldn't want to impose..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Lucius. "Narcissa would be delighted!" He went on in that vein of effusive reassurance, until Severus was quite convinced it was all part of a programme to persuade him to join Voldemort. Which made him ask himself, what was it Voldemort thought Severus had to offer him?

"They say he's the greatest Dark wizard since Grindelwald," said Severus. "Is it true?"

Lucius stopped effervescing. An uncharacteristically fanatical gleam entered his eyes.

"Oh, yes. He's more than Grindelwald ever was," he said. "It's another reason I thought you might be interested. I remember you at Hogwarts. You had a bent for the Dark Arts from the very first. The Dark Lord could teach you so much, Severus, that I'm sure you have the aptitude to learn. Why, look at all I've learned from him, and I wasn't half the scholar you were." Lucius gave a short burst of laughter. "Bad form, don't you know, for a Malfoy to be too much of an intellectual."

Severus had nothing to say to that, and he turned down Lucius's subsequent offer of dessert.

His taciturnity did nothing to dim Lucius's good cheer. "Saturday, ten days from now. I'll owl you with Floo directions. You could Floo straight from work, if you wanted. Father got the Manor a direct connection to St. Mungo's; he said if they wanted him to be a Trustee, they'd better damned well make it convenient for him to attend those dull Board meetings."

Severus didn't want to leave straight from work, and be gone for who knew how long before having a chance to check on Mother. "No, I'll come from home on Saturday afternoon, if that's all right with you."

"Certainly, certainly...." Lucius stood, a signal that dinner and their meeting was at an end. He'd got what he wanted from Severus, and did not try to push their camaraderie beyond the satisfaction of his desire. "Till the twenty-seventh, then."

Severus also had no wish to dawdle. He was very curious to find out how Mother had reacted to Narcissa Malfoy's descent upon Linden Lane.

---

Severus returned home to find his mother dusting the sitting-room furniture.

_Magically _dusting the sitting-room furniture.

She hadn't heard him come in, apparently, for she had her back turned to him as he stood in the doorway that led from the hall to the sitting room. As Severus watched, dumbfounded, she waved her wand (which he hadn't seen her use since they'd moved to Linden Lane), and the duster leapt from the mantel to the bookcase.

_"Mother!"_ said Severus.

She whirled around. The duster slid across the top of the bookcase and fell to the floor.

But Mother didn't notice. "Severus!" She came to Severus, hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek. After releasing him, she gazed up at him, smiling. "You'll never believe the day I've had; you'll never believe who came to see me!"

"Narcissa Malfoy," said Severus. His eyes moved from Mother's glowing face to the wand she held in her hand.

"Yes, how did you guess--oh, of course, you had dinner with Lucius!"

"The dusting, Mother." In his astonishment, Severus could hardly complete a sentence. "The dusting...you're using your _wand."_

"Oh--oh, yes." Mother looked down at her wand, seeming somewhat surprised to see herself holding it. She turned toward the bookcase and laughed a bit nervously when she saw the feather duster on the floor. "Not very well, I'm afraid."

Severus pointed his wand at the duster and sent it into a nearby closet.

"Yes, Lucius and I dined together," he said. "It went rather well, I thought. He's invited me to the Manor on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh. That's my next Saturday off."

"Isn't that amazing, Severus! I'm invited too, for next Tuesday!" The words tumbled from Mother's lips. "Narcissa came _here,_ can you believe it! and after I got over my surprise, I invited her in to tea. That's when she asked me to dinner, on her mother's behalf, really. Druella's been quite lonely since Cygnus died, so Narcissa often has her to stay at the Manor. She tries to have company in, to keep Druella's mind off things, and she says Druella told her we were friends at school. I don't remember being that close to Druella myself, but I'm not averse to giving her a little companionship. She's been through so much these past few months, the poor thing."

Severus looked at his mother in unconcealed surprise. Could Lucius have put Narcissa up to this? He found it hard to believe. He remembered Narcissa from school. In those days, she hadn't been one even Lucius Malfoy would have found easy to manipulate.

Was he wrong to think that this influx of Malfoys and Blacks was part of Lucius's plan to recruit him to Voldemort's side? Why should he be worth that much effort?

"Cygnus Black has been dead for five months," said Severus. "If Druella has been so lonely, why did Narcissa wait until now to offer you her invitation?"

A thoughtful, almost shrewd gleam entered Mother's eyes, the sort of look Severus couldn't say he'd seen there for years. Before answering him, Mother went to the sofa and slowly sat down. Severus sat down too, in the chair opposite her.

"According to Narcissa, Druella isn't the only reason she visited me," Mother said. "She said that she, Druella and Lucius felt guilty for years about cutting us, but Cygnus insisted. I don't know why they should have felt guilty about it, though. I'm married to a Muggle, after all."

Mother said it without the slightest bitterness in her voice. You were to lie without complaint in the bed you had made for yourself: that was a large part of the code which ruled the lives of pure-bloods like the Princes, the Malfoys and the Blacks.

"Perhaps it has something to do with you?" asked Mother.

"If it does, I don't know it yet," Severus said, with only slight dishonesty. He had no real idea how and why Lucius had persuaded Voldemort to meet him.

"I told Narcissa that, since I'd married a Muggle, I wasn't surprised her family refused to see me," Mother said. "Then she turned around and asked me if Tobias was harassing me."

"She did?" said Severus.

"She knew we were separated, and that I was living with you here in London," said Mother.

Severus wasn't surprised. The pure-bloods kept track of their own, even the disgraced ones: perhaps especially the disgraced ones, in order to see to it they didn't cause further trouble to their families. It was better than killing them, Severus supposed, which was what the Princes might have done to Mother a couple of centuries ago.

"And she said her Aunt Walburga told her she'd seen Tobias coming out of a boarding house in Grimmauld Place."

_Now_ Severus was surprised. _"What? _The bast--Tobias is living in Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes," said Mother. She looked rather pale. "Narcissa has offered...she said her family could take care of him if I liked."

_Take care of him. _Severus looked at his mother without speaking. If only it could be that easy, to leave Tobias to two powerful, pure-blood families, well-stocked with Dark wizards....

Mother looked at him directly, and, though Severus had never known her to be a Legilimens, he felt almost as though she was reading his mind.

"No, Severus," she said calmly. "Tobias is my husband. He's mine."

Severus bowed his head slightly. For now, that was good enough for him. If Tobias was still stalking Mother (and Severus doubted Lindsay's Memory Charm would be enough to make him give up looking for her), he'd soon discover that she had made some new friends.

As far as Severus was concerned, his mother's welfare was reason enough to encourage Lucius's newfound interest in him. He had to take help wherever he could get it.

It was flattering, though, to feel _pursued_ as he did, on behalf of a wizard whose reputation for Dark power surpassed that of any other in this century. There had to be something to this Voldemort, Severus thought. Otherwise, Lucius would not follow him, Ruskin would not have gone to Azkaban for him. Could he be like the Dark wizards of legend, able to offer Severus the power to order the world as he wanted it?

Severus bade his mother good night and went to bed, telling himself that, honestly, he wasn't puffed-up enough to want to rule wizard-kind, control nature or seek eternal life. He wanted nothing more than the security and freedom to take on the world, as the likes of Lucius Malfoy and James Potter did. That wasn't so much to ask for, was it?


	10. Chapter 10

PRACTICE AND THEORY

Autumn, 1975

Contrary to Professor Slughorn's prediction, Severus found that detention with Madam Pomfrey had nothing to do with the infirmary. It had everything to do with cutting down dead stalks, raking out brown leaves and mucking about with mulch and compost in Madam Pomfrey's physic garden.

It was achy, boring labour, for he had to do it all without magic. ("You could stand to learn something about the care of living things, and you can't do that at wand's length," Madam Pomfrey had said.) Nevertheless, it was better than listening to the histrionic groaning of injured Quidditch players and the self-absorbed whining of students whose spells had backfired on them in class because they hadn't done their homework the night before.

Severus had been in detention since Monday, working from the end of lessons until dusk. It gave him no time for homework until after dinner, and now, on Wednesday night, surrounded by books at a table in the Slytherin common room, he was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be able to keep up.

Everyone else had gone to bed except for Olaus Ruskin and Rabastan Lestrange, who sat at the next table doing their own homework. Soft green light fell on them from the lamp hanging over their heads, giving their skin an odd, pallid cast.

Lestrange yawned hugely, then said, "Vector is such a bitch. Doesn't she know the match with Gryffindor is less than three weeks away? Why is she setting an exam tomorrow?"

"Because that's what teachers do," said Ruskin. "Anyway, you asked for it. You're the one who took N.E.W.T.-level Arithmancy. But what about Bones?" He picked up the parchment he'd been writing on and brandished it in Lestrange's face. "She's assigned us three feet on demonic possession, from prehistoric times to the present. What do you think of that, eh?"

"You asked for it," said Lestrange. "You're the one who took N.E.W.T.-level Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"It'll be useful enough." Ruskin's indolent smile belied the sudden glint in his eyes. The gleam faded in the next moment and the smile broadened into a grin. "Unlike Arithmancy. Why, I ask you, does Arithmancy exist?"

"So you can get your N.E.W.T. in it, get an apprenticeship in Magical Mechanics and go to work in your dad's firm. If," Lestrange sighed, "you have to work for a living."

_"If_ you have to work_,"_ said Ruskin. "Wouldn't it just be easier to marry a Black?"

Lestrange frowned resentfully down at his Arithmancy textbook. "They're all taken."

"Mmm," said Ruskin, looking as though he hadn't thought of that before. But Severus imagined that, since his family had been invited to Bellatrix's and Narcissa's weddings, the fact that Andromeda also was married couldn't have escaped him.

His mouth twitching, Ruskin asked, "But doesn't Andromeda have a daughter?"

"She's a half-blood," Lestrange said contemptuously. "And she's two years old," he added, as if that were a far less important fact about Andromeda Tonks's daughter.

Finally Ruskin laughed. "You know what, Rabby?" he said then. "You're right about lessons. They interfere with Quidditch practice. We really need to do something about Potter's Chaser's Fade and his Holyhead Double Loop."

"Not to mention Black and his Bludgers," said Lestrange with a grimace of recollected pain.

Severus, having no interest in the conversation beyond the fact that its noise distracted him, flipped through his Charms textbook to the day's assignment.

"Too bad Severus never made the team. We could use him now."

Severus looked up. Ruskin's eyes danced in amusement.

"I'd like nothing better than to have a good Firewhip at my disposal, to knock Potter off his broom when he gets annoying," said Ruskin.

"Hooch would have you off the team," said Severus shortly. "And Dumbledore might well have you out of the school."

"Some serious Dark magic, is it?" said Ruskin. "I saw the look on Pomfrey's face when she was examining Pettigrew. Is it yours?"

Severus stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"The Firewhip," said Ruskin. "Did you invent it?"

Severus hesitated, trying to decide how to answer, for he rarely knew whom to trust with the truth.

"Of course he did," Lestrange said into the silence. "Look at him."

"Is it really worse than the Breath-taker?" Ruskin asked. "Or _better_, I should say. Did you have to teach Pomfrey how to finish mending Pettigrew?"

"No, all she needed was the incantation. She worked the rest out for herself."

"So it _is_ yours," said Ruskin.

"Yes," Severus said after a moment.

Ruskin smiled. "Oh, good. You shouldn't have any trouble teaching it to us, then."

Severus looked from one to the other. It occurred to him that nobody else on the Slytherin Quidditch team seemed to think it was necessary to sit up in the common room past ten at night in order to get their homework done.

"Do you really want to learn it?" Severus asked.

"Well, why else would we ask!" said Lestrange.

"I don't know," said Severus. "It's not like you need to defend yourselves. Even Potter wouldn't dare hex the Head Boy and his friends."

"No, he wouldn't." Ruskin leaned back in his chair and looked Severus full in the face. "It's the spell itself that interests me--the power in it. And you, Severus. Who would think you could create spells like Breath-taker and Firewhip? I don't think any other student at Hogwarts could do it, and I really admire you for it."

Severus had no reason to think him insincere. Ruskin was one of the few people who had never taunted him and one of the fewer still who had always come to his defence. That is, when he took enough notice of Severus to see that he needed defending.

Still, Severus found it hard to believe him. "You _admire_ me?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" Ruskin retorted with a laugh. "I've truly never met anyone like you."

He and Lestrange shut their books and came over to Severus's table. Ruskin slid into a seat opposite Severus and Lestrange sat beside Ruskin.

"Come on, Severus," Ruskin said. "Teach us the spell."

Their very attempts to charm him put Severus on his guard. "I taught you Levicorpus, and look what happened. It got out, the whole school knows it, and now every time I turn around, somebody's pointing my arse at the ceiling. Even Pettigrew hit me with it a couple of weeks ago."

"It wasn't _us_ who let the incantation out," said Lestrange. "Aren't _you_ the one who blew up and yelled it at Potter and his gang?"

"Yes, but he might not have been the only one who spoke it aloud," Ruskin said. He ticked names off on his fingers. "Evan Rosier, Douglas Wilkes, Regulus Black, Fordon Avery--we all learned Levicorpus together last year, remember?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah," Lestrange said. "Reckon it could have been one of them, then. I know it wasn't me."

"And I know it wasn't me," said Ruskin. "Funny when you think about it. You have to be damned sharp to learn a spell when you've only heard the incantation a couple of times. Potter's bright, but is he that bright?" Ruskin frowned slightly, then shrugged. "Water under the bridge." He bestowed a glittering smile upon Severus. "We've got a new spell to learn."

"I'm in detention," Severus reminded him.

"We can work around that," said Ruskin. "And it can't last forever, can it?"

"It's for ten days, Madam Pomfrey says." Severus made a face. "Just long enough for me to finish her autumn gardening. But that's all right, actually, if you want to learn Firewhip. I can catch some little animals and birds while I'm in the garden."

"Catch little animals and birds?" said Lestrange. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"To practise casting the spell on them, of course," Severus said. He had done the same with Sectumsempra at home during the summer. "We can't practise on each other, the way we did with Levicorpus. The Firewhip hurts."

"Of course it does," said Ruskin. "You were there on the way back from Hogsmeade, Rabby, you dolt! You remember how Pettigrew squealed."

"Oh...yes," Lestrange said slowly, as if he'd only just comprehended it. He looked at Ruskin. "So you think you'll find it useful?"

Ruskin's lazy smile didn't quite fit with the diamond-hard glint in his eyes. "I think a spell like the Firewhip can take a chap an awfully long way."

Severus was sure he was missing something. Exactly where did Ruskin expect a Dark burning spell to take him?

"Well, Severus?" said Ruskin.

Ruskin's persistence suggested that not only could he make use of the Firewhip, he _needed_ to make use of it. Why? Severus wondered. There was only one way to find out and only one way to stay in Ruskin's good graces.

"All right," said Severus. "But it will have to wait until I'm out of detention. We can't practise in the Slytherin dungeon after dinner; it's not safe to play around with a spell like Firewhip indoors. Besides, when you reach the point where you'll be casting it on animals..."

"They'll squeal," Ruskin supplied.

"Like Pettigrew," Lestrange elaborated.

"Yes," said Severus. "Right. So..."

"So you finish up your detention with Madam Pomfrey and collect your test subjects," Ruskin said. "Rabby and I will find us a place to play."

---

Although he had at first heartily loathed his detention, by the end of his ten days in Madam Pomfrey's physic garden, Severus was beginning to think it wasn't so bad after all. His muscles had stopped aching, the crisp autumn air invigorated him, and the freshly-turned earth smelled rich and sweet. Moreover, there was a certain tidy progress to be noted, a certain feeling of accomplishment to be enjoyed as he weeded, raked and pulled out old stalks. He even felt oddly tender toward the mostly inoffensive medicinal herbs as he tucked them in for the winter under mounds of straw.

Except for the few minutes each afternoon when Madam Pomfrey came out to check on him, give him instructions and, occasionally, praise his increasingly meticulous work, Severus worked alone. But solitude in the garden was not the same as solitude in his bedroom at home, or in the dormitory or library at school. What he felt in the garden, he eventually came to understand, was not loneliness but calm.

It certainly didn't ruffle that calm to know that here, under Madam Pomfrey's protection, his enemies couldn't touch him. Today he even knew exactly where they were. Gryffindor had booked the Quidditch pitch for practice, so two of those tiny figures silhouetted against the bright blue sky had to be Potter and Black.

Severus straightened, stretched and, for a few minutes, watched the Gryffindors loop and soar. Then he went up to the hospital wing to get a glass of water. As he drank, he looked around for Madam Pomfrey and presently saw her in her office, far from any windows, scribbling notes on a patient's parchment, with several more parchments piled up at her elbow.

Severus was careful not to disturb her. He finished his water and went quietly back to the physic garden. There he found and put body-binds on a starling and a vole. He stowed them in an enlarged, protective space he'd magicked inside his book bag, alongside a rabbit he had Petrified when he'd found it nibbling on the grass at dawn.

Severus returned the bag to its place on a stone bench. Then, the gentle autumn sun warming his back and neck, he went back to digging compost into Madam Pomfrey's raised beds.

---

"We'll do it here," Ruskin said the next morning.

Severus halted beside him and Lestrange in the shade at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were in sight of the Whomping Willow, but at a distance which made it look no bigger than a shrub. Even further away, the turrets of Hogwarts Castle thrust jaggedly into the sky, against a backdrop of scudding grey clouds.

"I'm not afraid of this place, even if everyone else is," Ruskin said, looking into the forest's lightless depths. "I could look after all three of us in there, if I had to."

"Good, because I don't fancy casting this spell in a popular place," said Lestrange. "Though I don't think we need to go _into_ the forest," he added hurriedly. "Do we, Severus?"

"No, this is fine. We'd have trouble seeing what we were doing in there," said Severus.

"Quite," said Ruskin. "And though we may not want to be seen, we certainly do need to see." He was looking some five yards ahead of them, at the Petrified starling which Severus had laid on the grass.

Severus took out his wand. "The incantation for the Firewhip curse is _Flammaflagrum_," he said to Ruskin and Lestrange. "And when you cast it, you have to want--no matter what--to burn." He looked at the starling. It was Petrified, but of course it still breathed. Its chest rose and fell with rapid bird respirations.

"Well, it's that way with every curse that's worth anything, isn't it?" asked Ruskin. "You have to have the power to do it. And you have to really want to do it."

Though he'd been casting curses since childhood, Severus had never heard it put so succinctly.

_"_Short and sweet_,_ eh?" Ruskin said, smiling. "But don't credit me. Professor Dumbledore said it first."

More Magical Theory, Severus supposed. He'd have to take that class next year.

"Well, then," he said. "I don't have that many animals to waste on demonstrations, so watch closely."

Severus drew his wand and aimed it at the starling. But he didn't cast the spell at once, for he had to take a moment to order his mind.

He waited until he had before him not the physical sight of the starling's bulging eyes or its rapidly heaving breast, but the vision of his mind's eye: the Firewhip writhing across the starling's body, shrivelling feathers and burning skin.

He was ready. _"Flammaflagrum!" _

The silver lash sprang from Severus's wand and struck the starling. A little puff of smoke rose from its body. When the smoke cleared, Severus saw that his vision had become reality. The starling's feathers were singed and in patches burnt off, with the exposed skin red and blistered, just as Peter Pettigrew's had been.

The bird neither squawked nor moved, however, for the Body-Bind Curse still held.

Severus lowered his wand and looked around. Ruskin and Lestrange were both staring at him.

"_Very_ nice work, Severus," said Ruskin. He pointed his wand at the starling. "Let me give it a try."

"No! Not before I counter the curse," said Severus.

Ruskin looked at him and then, with a mild shrug, lowered his wand. Severus went to kneel beside the starling. He wasn't quite right, he saw, to believe its body was completely still. He could see the bird's tiny heart jittering beneath its skin, like a hazelnut come suddenly to maddened life.

Severus's throat constricted for a few seconds. Then he took a breath and cleared his mind.

Now he saw in his mind's eye the complex, glittering spirals of Madam Pomfrey's Refrigeratus swirling out of his wand, flowing over the starling's body and melting into its skin. He saw the bird's skin heal and its fluttering heart calm into a quiet and regular beat.

_"Refrigeratus,"_ muttered Severus, tracing spirals with the tip of his wand over the starling's burns. The crystalline spell flowing from his wand healed the bird's skin. Another pass of his wand restored its feathers.

Severus looked into the starling's unblinking black eye for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he released it from the Body-Bind Curse. The bird shot upward, flying away from Severus as fast as he had ever seen any bird fly. Within moments it looked like a black Snitch, little more than a whir of wings against the sky.

"Oy, there!" said Lestrange. "Why'd you let the bird go? What are we supposed to practise on?"

"Severus has his own practising to do," said Ruskin. "Leave him alone."

Lestrange looked nettled, but said nothing. "Don't worry, I've got another animal in my bag," Severus said to him. He pulled out the vole and laid it on the ground. "Go ahead, Olaus," he said.

Ruskin's eyes took on a distant, icy look. He cast the Firewhip nonverbally and perfectly.

Severus knelt beside the vole. It was burned as the starling had been burned. "Very good," he murmured. He looked up just to see the animation return to Ruskin's face in the form of a satisfied smile.

"Thanks. Your turn, Rabby."

"Well, not yet. Unless you want me to hit Severus."

Severus was healing the vole. When the last of its burns were gone, he released it from the Body-Bind. The vole scampered off and disappeared in the tall, untended grass near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Severus took the Petrified rabbit from his bag and set it on the ground. "Now it's your turn," he said to Lestrange.

Lestrange was far from dim, but he was no Olaus Ruskin. His first Firewhip curled back around his wand and, barely missing his hand, singed the sleeve of his robe. The second was a ball of silvery flames that popped from his wand and fell straight to the ground, igniting the grass dangerously close to his feet.

Severus doused the fire with an Aguamenti Charm while Ruskin tried without success to stifle his laughter. "Good lord, Rabby! If you don't attract the attention of somebody on the grounds, you'll catch the eye of something inside the forest!"

Worrying about exactly that, Severus looked toward the school. The cold wind and lowering clouds seemed to be keeping casual strollers off the lawns. He peered into the forest's shadows. Nothing peered back. And, except for the distant cawing of crows, the wilderness was silent.

"So what do I do?" said Lestrange, looking frustrated.

"It's best if you see yourself, in your mind's eye, making the spell happen," said Severus. "It's like Olaus said: you have to _want_ to burn the rabbit." He hesitated, then added, "You can't care whether you're hurting it or not."

"Makes it a good spell for enemies, eh?" Ruskin put in. "Since you want to hurt them."

Perhaps it was what Ruskin said, or perhaps it was the look on his face that brought Potter immediately to Severus's mind. Potter, upending him by the lake last spring so that the whole school, including Lily, could see his underwear, _forcing_ him to call her a filthy name, because he'd rather her hate than her pity....

"Yeah," Lestrange said, looking as though things had finally fallen into place. "I can get behind that."

He raised his wand and glared fiercely at the Petrified rabbit, making Severus hope that the enemy Lestrange was visualising wasn't him.

_"Flammaflagrum!"_ said Lestrange.

A brilliant Firewhip shot out of his wand, straight for the rabbit, and in the next moment the aroma of roast meat rose to Severus's nostrils.

Severus hurried to kneel beside the rabbit. Its burns, he immediately saw, were worse than those of the starling and the vole. There was almost no part of its body which remained untouched. Even its ears were burned.

It should have died, Severus thought. The Firewhip had burned away most of its fur, leaving huge swaths of raw, red skin. In some places, the skin was crisped black. The rabbit lived, however, for it breathed. The Firewhip had spared its nose and mouth, so that it drew, with twitchy, shallow breaths, just enough air into its lungs to keep it alive.

The spell's lash had also missed the rabbit's eyes. Glassy and filmed with pain, those eyes were fixed on Severus.

At a loss, he stared back. He did not know how he could repair that much damage, even with Madam Pomfrey's version of Refrigeratus. He didn't think Madam Pomfrey herself could heal those burns.

But without healing the rabbit would certainly die. Severus did not know how long the dying would take. He did not know why that mattered to him. But it did matter, so he pointed his wand at the rabbit's throat. He emptied his mind. He allowed to grow in those voided spaces, like the unfolding of a flower, nothing but the desire to cut. Then he whispered, _"Sectumsempra!"_

The spell sliced the rabbit's windpipe in half. A bit of blood welled around the wound, and then the rabbit's head fell back. It was dead.

"A new spell, Severus?" said Ruskin's soft voice above him.

Severus turned and looked up. Ruskin was standing just behind him.

Severus rose. "The rabbit's dead. We ought to bury it."

"Why don't you just throw it into the forest?" said Lestrange, coming up to them. He looked down at the rabbit and gave a low whistle. "I do good work, don't I?"

"Teachers go into the forest," Severus said.

"I doubt one would make it in there before something-or-other took care of the evidence," Ruskin said. "But if you want to bury it, then bury it we shall." With a flick of his wand, he excavated a hole near the undergrowth at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He Levitated the rabbit into the hole and covered it up. A few waves of his wand tamped the dirt down, so that it looked as though it had never been disturbed.

"There we are!" said Ruskin. "Lesson's over. I'm ready for lunch." He turned and, with his usual long, loping stride, headed for the castle.

Lestrange went with him, but Severus hung back for a moment. He Vanished the grass burned by Lestrange's ball of fire. He Summoned a few rocks he could see just inside the forest and arranged them over the bare patch so that they looked like a natural jumble. Then he followed Ruskin and Lestrange back to Hogwarts Castle.

---

Severus decided, after their first lesson, that he didn't need to risk being seen teaching Ruskin and Lestrange the Firewhip any longer. Besides, detention had left him with so much homework, he didn't have the time. He told Ruskin and Lestrange that they'd shown enough comprehension of the Firewhip to perfect it on their own and allowed his looming pile of unfinished work to push the spell out of his mind.

He was in a deserted corner of the library a few evenings later, driving himself to finish an overdue Transfiguration essay for which Professor McGonagall was not likely to give him another extension. He was so deep in his work that he didn't know Ruskin was there until a book bag dropped with a thud on the table in front of him.

Severus started and looked up. "Olaus."

"Hullo, Severus. Mind if I sit down?"

Ruskin did so without waiting for Severus's permission, but Severus didn't mind. Maybe Ruskin could help him with his essay.

"Who discovered the Third Law of Transfigurational Limits?" Severus asked.

"Alberuni, sorcerer to the Sultan Mahmud, in 1020," said Ruskin. "And funny you should ask."

"Why?" said Severus.

Ruskin tipped his chair back and peered around a bookcase. Leaning forward and following his gaze, Severus saw Madam Pince at her desk, flipping through filing cards and making notes on a parchment.

Ruskin lowered the front legs of his chair very quietly back to the floor. "Nobody in the library but Pince, and she's not paying any attention to us. But I'd still cast a Muffliato if I were you."

"Why?" Severus repeated.

"Because, one, you're better at it than I am, and, two, I don't want anybody to hear us."

Severus put down his pen and took out his wand. After he had cast the spell, Ruskin leaned back to peer at Madam Pince.

"Good," he said, sitting straight again. "Looks like she doesn't suspect a thing."

"So what is it you don't want her to suspect?" said Severus.

"That I'm going to talk about limits." When Severus blinked at him, Ruskin added, "Not of Transfiguration, but of the Firewhip. It's a very limited spell, you know."

Severus wouldn't have guessed it. "I'm sorry I failed to please," he said coldly.

Ruskin laughed. "Oh, no, sorry!--_not_ the right word--I mean delimited, I suppose. The Firewhip's not as Dark a spell as you'd think, because it's delimited."

"Delimited? What does that mean?"

"You know something?" said Ruskin musingly, his mirth fading to a small smile. "If Dumbledore knew what use I'd make of Magical Theory, he'd never have let me in the class. The term 'delimited' is usually applied to Dark magic, though Dumbledore says there's no reason you can't apply it to Light magic as well. A delimited curse is one which--theoretically, anyway--can do only so much harm. Dumbledore says it's contained by its own nature, or by the boundaries the wizard opposing it is able to place upon it. Or both."

"Both?" said Severus.

"Sure, a lot of curses are like that, aren't they? Take Levicorpus. A wizard can place limits on it. He can counter it by casting Liberacorpus. But it's also limited in itself. If you wait long enough, it'll just wear off."

"Well, I wouldn't call Levicorpus very Dark."

"Right!" Ruskin's small smile grew larger. "Now you're getting it. Because the really Dark curses _aren't_ limited, are they?"

Severus waited, looking at him curiously, and listening, in the otherwise silent library, to the patter of rain on the windows.

"Take your Unforgivables, some of the Darkest magic we know," said Ruskin. "Take the Imperius Curse. Maybe you can dodge it, but I've never heard of anybody Shielding against it. And there's no counter to it. If somebody hits you with an Imperius Curse, it's no use going for your wand, might do more harm than good, in fact. It's what's inside you that counts then. It's your will against the caster's power, full stop, end of story. Same with the Cruciatus Curse. There's no getting away from the Cruciatus Curse, once one lands on you. And no limit on how bad it can get. Nothing to hold it back but the limit nature puts on the caster's power and the limit the caster wants to put on his desire to send you to hell...."

Ruskin fell silent and the rain fell harder.

"Then there's Avada Kedavra," he resumed after a moment. "I mean to say, how do you define the limits on death? Once you get past the heart-stopped-no-breathing part, do we even know what it is?"

"What are you getting at?" said Severus.

"The Firewhip," said Ruskin, leaning forward on his elbows. "It's a delimited curse. You've invented a counter-curse, a piece of Light magic that gives it a boundary. How about that curse you cut Rabby's bunny's throat with? Do you have a counter to that?"

"No."

"Have you been trying to create one?"

"Yes. But it's not as easy as you'd think," said Severus.

"No. It's not easy to limit a spell that can kill if you'll just give it its head. It's like it develops a mind of its own."

"Sectumsempra was never meant to kill," Severus said quickly.

"Ah, but you _did_ kill with it, didn't you?" said Ruskin.

Severus stared at him. He remembered emptying his mind of the rabbit's burned fur, blistered skin and glassy-eyed agony. He remembered permitting himself nothing but the desire to cut, in a place where cutting was certain to end life.

"See what I mean? There's no _limit_ to it. Unless you can place one. But like you said, sometimes that's not so easy to do. It's like some spells just don't want to be hemmed in." Ruskin paused. "So that's what you call it? Sectumsempra?"

"Yes."

"I want to learn Sectumsempra."

"Why?"

"Well, you remember what I said about the Firewhip, that it was a spell that could take a chap a long way? I think Sectumsempra could take me even further."

This time Severus asked the obvious question aloud. "Where do you want to go?"

"Let's just say I have a job prospect. I want to add Firewhip and Sectumsempra to my portfolio."

Suspicion stirred in Severus. "You said Slughorn was giving you a line into the Department of Magical Games and Sports. You won't need the Firewhip and Sectumsempra there."

"Oh, that. That's just the day job." Waving a hand, Ruskin leaned back, his whole body looking fluidly relaxed. "I'm looking for real work. Work proper to a Slytherin." He folded his arms loosely across his chest. Yet as he spoke, he fixed Severus with an unwavering gaze.

"..._Most of the witches and wizards who have been revealed as Death Eaters are Slytherin alumni,"_ Slughorn had told Severus. "You're not thinking of--" he began.

Ruskin silenced him with a gesture. "You don't know what I'm thinking of, because I haven't told you. And I won't."

Severus felt his jaw go slack. Questions sprang to his mind. Did Olaus Ruskin want to become a Death Eater? Or was he one already?

"You--you could be putting yourself in a lot of danger," Severus stammered at last.

"Not if we never mention it again," said Ruskin. In their dim corner of the library, beneath the window streaming with icy rain and black with the night, his eyes looked very dark. "I know I won't." He smiled slowly. "And if you did, who'd believe you?"

"If anybody believed me, you'd go to Azkaban. Do you think I want that?"

"Of course not," Ruskin said soothingly. "You're my friend, and I'm yours. You'll teach me Sectumsempra, and I'll get to a place where I can do my friends some good." He straightened and, even though the Muffliato spell was still in effect, lowered his voice. "The world's changing, Severus. Doesn't seem like it here at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore's Head, but it is. Dumbledore's afraid of change. So are the Ministry. They can't cope. They're going to fall. When they do, _then..._then I'll be one of the ones in charge."

Severus, still staring at him, said nothing.

Ruskin cocked his head. "Of course, you may see reason before then," he said thoughtfully. "I think you've got it in you."

Severus did not care to reply to that. But he did think it best, on the whole, to make sure he kept Ruskin as a friend. "All right, I'll teach you Sectumsempra," he said. "But what I did to Lestrange's rabbit is the most I've ever done with it, so I don't know that it's all that powerful a spell."

"Oh, yes, you do," Ruskin replied. "You created it."

---

Severus Stunned the hedgehog that Ruskin had laid open, so that it would not have to feel its life leaking away.

"There's no boundary to it," Ruskin muttered as he watched the hedgehog bleed. "That's the difference between Firewhip and Sectumsempra. Between the Light and the Dark. Between the owl sleeping in her cage in a patch of sunlight and the owl flying free on the hunt, into the starry, limitless night."

It wasn't the sort of thing Ruskin usually said. It wasn't the sort of thing anybody in Severus's experience ever said, except maybe Dumbledore. But, having cast Sectumsempra many times now in the course of teaching the spell to Ruskin, Severus understood what Ruskin meant. Freedom. There was a certain freedom in not knowing exactly how much a spell you had invented could do, in not knowing exactly how far you could go.

"You don't need me any more," Severus told Ruskin. "I've taught you all I know about Sectumsempra."

"But we're still friends," Ruskin assured him.

---

Ruskin proved it, too. He mustered a group--himself, Lestrange, Rosier, Avery and Wilkes--that seemed to appear every time Potter and his gang started on Severus. He was as good as Severus had ever been at goading Potter and Black into losing their tempers. Better yet, as Head Boy, he could then turn around and take points or put them in detention.

But even Ruskin's conduct, Severus soon came to realise, did not annoy Potter as much as Lily Evans's did.

He made the discovery in Potions class. Lily had continued to partner him through the autumn term, and Severus had seen that, no matter how much Potter tried to hide it, he truly hated for her to do that.

Severus had reckoned that Potter's initial anger at her would simmer down to the level of bullying pranks, but he was wrong. Potter stayed at the same height of flustered fury which had made him glare at Lily Evans the whole time he should have been brewing his Antisomnia Infusion that first lesson of the term. In several lessons after that, Potter had tried to get Lily to partner with him. Had he thought she'd changed after repudiating Severus's friendship for good? Did he think she would come cringing back to him like the rest of the Gryffindor curs?

Lily didn't cringe. Nor did she accept Potter's invitations. She told him bluntly that, since she was there to learn something, she preferred to partner with somebody who took an interest in the class and who, therefore, at least half knew what he was doing.

Lily had said that, and yet Severus knew she didn't like him. After last June, she would never like him. Oh, they worked together well enough--hadn't they always?--and their brews continued to earn top marks from Professor Slughorn--but outside of Potions they had nothing to do with each other. Why should they have done? Lily no longer liked him, and outside of Potions, she hadn't needed him for a long time. She had grown quite popular during her years at Hogwarts, and her many friends kept her busy.

Severus didn't care. Except for Lily, he had never cared for the attention of the popular. They either taunted him, like Potter, or patronised him, as Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black had done while they were still at school, expecting him to adore them in return for their desultorily-tossed crumbs of attention.

Lily had been different. For her he had lain under the Fat Lady's portrait; her at one time he might actually have adored. But now he knew he didn't have to adore her, since he knew she would never like him again. All he had to do was work with her in pursuit of their common goal: top marks in N.E.W.T.s Potions. They used each other, Severus told himself, and there was nothing wrong with that.

That was where things stood in the third week of November, as Severus waited in the Potions classroom for the lesson to begin. As always, to prevent unpleasant surprises, he ascertained the enemy's whereabouts. Potter was in his favourite place near the back of the classroom, sitting at a table with Black and Pettigrew.

Lupin wasn't with them. Apparently his mother was ill again, for he had never missed Potions that term for any other reason. Indeed, when Severus came to think about it, Lupin's attendance hadn't been all that bad lately. He hadn't missed a class since a week before Severus had struck Pettigrew with the Firewhip--

"What are you looking at, Snivellus?"

Potter didn't mock or taunt. He snarled. Severus half-turned in his seat so that he could stare directly at Potter.

"I'll look at any freak show I please," Severus said. "What business is it of yours?"

"You'll look at it from eyes in the back of your head, then," said Black. He drew his wand from the folds of his sleeve and half-surreptitiously aimed it at Severus. "Once I rearrange your face to put them there."

Pettigrew snorted with laughter. "Won't make him look any worse than he does now!"

Potter leaned forward on his elbows and grinned maliciously at Severus. "Know something, Peter? Truer words were never spoken."

The classroom door opened as Potter spoke and Lily walked in. She stopped in her tracks and took in the situation at a glance.

"Leave him alone, Potter."

Lily's face was hard, and her voice, though quiet, sounded somehow more dangerous. But they were the same words she had said by the lake last June, and Severus, when he heard them, felt the same hot flush climbing into his face.

Potter, however, did not act as he had then. He straightened. The grin was gone. He looked at Lily with a quietly earnest expression on his face, like nothing Severus had ever seen there before.

"I will if you'll go out with me," said Potter. "Go out with me, and I promise I'll never lay a wand on him again."

Lily stared at Potter. For the briefest of moments, a fervently longing look flickered through her eyes, a look so rapidly replaced by anger that Severus was never sure afterwards that he'd actually seen it.

"You haven't changed a bit since last year, Potter," Lily said coldly. "So my answer hasn't changed, either. I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid." She turned on her heel and strode to Severus's table. Throwing her book bag on the floor, she sat down next to him.

Severus looked at her. It was the first time this year that Lily had chosen to sit next to him. Ordinarily, she never joined him unless Slughorn called on the class to pair off.

Lily did not look at Severus. Professor Slughorn came in then, followed by a few stragglers. When the students were settled in their seats, he assigned the Draught of Living Death.

Severus had had the sense, after his first Potions lesson, to go through Borage and correct whatever recipes needed correcting. Fortunately, he hadn't come across any recipe since the Antisomnia Infusion which necessitated his asking Slughorn for ingredients from his private stores. Severus didn't know but what, if that occasion arose again, he wouldn't risk brewing his potion inefficiently, or even incorrectly.

Luckily, the Draught of Living Death did not present Severus with that dilemma. All the ingredients he needed to make the potion were available in the classroom storage cupboard. Before long he was half finished. His potion was smooth, blackcurrant-purple and had achieved a gentle, rolling simmer.

Lily, stony-faced and silent throughout the preparation of her potion, had reached the same point. Severus looked over at Potter. His potion was lime-green. From time to time, it gave a bubbling hiss and spurted over the side of his cauldron. The potion was unsalvageable, if Severus was any judge. Potter would have to throw it out and start again.

But Potter didn't appear to notice the mess he'd made. He was looking straight ahead, past Slughorn, who was dousing the flames shooting from Alice Aylsworth's cauldron. Potter stared at the blackboard without seeming to see it, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

Black looked at Potter and, sighing, gave a little shrug. Only Pettigrew, with a furtive glance, met Severus's eyes.

Finally it dawned on Severus, and as it did so, he wondered how he could have been so blind. Potter didn't hate Lily. She wasn't his enemy. He liked her as much as he had last year. He'd just tried to get her to go out with him, hadn't he?

The only difference was this: Lily now treated Severus with respect. To Potter, it must look as though she had forgiven Severus, as though she liked him again. Lily Evans, a Gryffindor and therefore one of Potter's subjects, Lily Evans, a girl Potter fancied, had the gall to treat Severus Snape like a human being. _That_ was what infuriated Potter. But wasn't that what had always infuriated Potter?

Severus looked at Lily, who was counting out her sopophorous beans. He looked at Potter, who stared at the blackboard while his fluorescent green potion boiled over the sides of his cauldron. The muscle still worked in Potter's jaw.

Severus looked at Potter for another moment, then, returning to his own potion, spread his sopophorous beans out on the table. As he was digging his silver knife out of his bag, he happened to glance over at Lily. In compliance with Borage's instructions, she was cutting up her sopophorous beans.

Severus thought for a moment. Then, speaking as he'd used to do, as if last June had never happened, he said, "Lily, if you crush the beans, you'll get a lot more juice."

"Hmm?" she said distractedly, looking up.

Severus crushed his sopophorous beans with the flat of his silver dagger. "You see?"

Lily's eyes widened. "Wow," she said, comparing Severus's beans with the beans she had cut. "Look at all that juice!" She imitated him at once, crushing the rest of her beans with the flat of her own knife. Then she slid the prepared beans into her potion.

Severus had done the same. Both their potions immediately lightened to lilac.

"Wow," Lily said again. Then, glancing around the dungeon at everyone else's potion, she added, "Hey, look, we're way ahead of everybody else. Obviously the book's wrong again. Got any other tips?" she asked, peering over Severus's shoulder at his textbook.

"One clockwise stir after every seventh anticlockwise stir," said Severus.

They stirred in accordance with Severus's instructions, and their potions lightened further.

Now was the time. "You and Potter," Severus ventured, "you were saying almost the same things you said when--well, at the lake last year, when I was there."

Lily drew back from Severus and his textbook. "You noticed. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Her face turned red, and not only from the potion's steam, Severus reckoned.

He'd thought he'd steal a march on Potter, but this wasn't about Potter, was it? It had never been about Potter. It was about lying beside Lily on the river bank in the sun-dappled summer shade, about sitting beside her on the Hogwarts Express, drinking pumpkin juice and trading Chocolate Frog cards. It was about looking at her when the other Slytherins weren't watching, wondering whether his life could be better than his parents' had been.

"I'm sorry," said Severus. "I'm sorry I called you that name. I've never said that word--since then. I'll never say it again." At that moment he meant it. He thought he'd never meant anything more.

Lily stared at him. Surely she didn't believe him.

"Forgive me," said Severus softly. _"Please."_

_Please._ That, he hadn't planned. That, more a breath than a word, perhaps he hadn't quite said.

"Forgive you?" Lily looked at him for several more moments, until Severus was sure she wouldn't answer.

"I can try," she said.


	11. Chapter 11

LORD VOLDEMORT

Autumn, 1979

Severus needn't have worried about leaving his mother at home while he went to Malfoy Manor for the weekend. Narcissa Malfoy had invited Mother for an afternoon of shopping on the Saturday, followed by dinner and a concert.

"The Norn Trio, Severus!" Mother enthused. "I don't know where Narcissa got the tickets, or how much they must have cost!" She hesitated. "Or what I'm going to wear. I haven't been to an affair like that in ages."

"Buy yourself something while you're out with Narcissa," said Severus, pressing a few Galleons into her hand. "There's some extra money this month," he added, seeing the worry in her eyes. "They may have worked me like a house-elf at St Mungo's, but they had to pay me like a wizard."

Mother's hand closed over the gold and her worried look changed to one of guilty yearning. Unable to face her, Severus turned away.

"I'll see you Sunday," he said and slipped out the front door into Linden Lane. From there he walked quickly to the public Floo stop, and, by a circuitous route which included a brief fireplace-view into the boardroom at St Mungo's Hospital, he Flooed to the fireplace in the cavernous hallway of Malfoy Manor.

---

When Severus stepped out of the fireplace, Lucius was there, waiting for him. He seemed tense, bowstring-taut, and his eyes darted about, over Severus's shoulder, into the shadowed corners of the hall, as if he suspected something frightening might have followed Severus into his home.

"We're alone. Except for him. _He's_ here." Lucius jerked his chin toward a door at the end of the hall, behind which, as Severus remembered, lay his study. "In there."

Severus hesitated. The hallway was a very old part of the manor house, with narrow windows that seemed to block more light than they let in. That gleam of sweat on Lucius's face might exist only in his imagination.

"Are you all right?" asked Severus.

"Oh, never better!" Lucius said, but the brightness in his smile did not reach his eyes. They went to the study door and stopped. Lucius did not lift his hand to the doorknob.

"You'll find him--_different_," said Lucius softly. "I should warn you, so that you won't be too startled when you see him for the first time. In the pursuit of the Dark Arts, he has altered himself."

Severus had read some bizarre accounts in the _Prophet, _from people who claimed to have seen Voldemort at close quarters. Was Lucius trying to tell him those people weren't as mad as they had seemed?

The idea was fascinating, another throwback to the ancient wizards who had stumbled upon mutating curses in their search for immortality. Severus certainly wasn't going to let it stop him from meeting Voldemort.

He shrugged. "I'm an Apothecary at St Mungo's Hospital. I've seen plenty of people whose bodies have been ruined through magic."

"Very good. Though I do advise you not to tell the Dark Lord he's ruined himself."

Lucius opened the door and they entered the study. Severus had been here before, after Olaus Ruskin's death, yet the air of sophisticated luxury exuded by rubbed leather, gleaming rosewood and tastefully muted wallpaper felt slightly alien to him. Like all the other rooms of Malfoy Manor, the study was so far from anything he had called home that he couldn't quite accept the invitation to comfort it extended to him. His body tightened defensively, almost against his will.

And yet, even though this was his own home, Lucius looked no more relaxed than Severus felt. As he gazed at the back of a wing chair facing the fireplace, his features assumed an expression of wary respect.

The curtains were drawn against the daylight, the fire was low and only a couple of candles burned on the sideboard. And so for one moment it looked to Severus as though a dark cloud billowed from the chair. In the next moment, he realised it was the swirling of black robes as a wizard got to his feet.

He was a tall man, very thin, with sparse black hair that looked as brittle as dry straw. When he turned, Severus saw that Lucius was right: Lord Voldemort did seem--_altered._ It was as if his face were a wax mask that had come too close to flame and had subtly, disturbingly melted and stretched. His lips were practically nonexistent. His nose was inhumanly flat, with narrow nostrils like knife cuts.

Severus might have thought him the victim of some inherited deformity, if it were not for his eyes. Voldemort's eyes were nothing that nature, no matter how cruel and capricious, could have given him. Like his nostrils, there was something snakelike about Voldemort's slitted pupils. But Severus was not afraid of snakes. What he might find troubling, if he gave himself time to think about it, was the way the red of the irises leaked like blood into the whites of Voldemort's eyes, the way those eyes, instead of looking like a pair of bloodily-gouged wounds, shone with a cold intelligence.

But all Severus thought then, as he stared into them, was that Voldemort's eyes looked _right._

"You are Severus Snape?"

Voldemort's voice was as cold as his eyes, and, though Severus persisted in thinking of him as a wizard, his voice was almost too high to be accounted male.

Voldemort raised his thin eyebrows questioningly. How long had Severus been gawping at him? "Yes," he answered hurriedly.

"Good." Voldemort turned to Lucius. "Leave us. If I need you, I will call."

Lucius bowed, which to Severus was another startling sight. "Yes, my lord."

"Sit down, please," Voldemort said after Lucius had left, and Severus took the chair beside him, facing the fire. "Brandy," he said, gesturing with a long, pale hand at the decanter on the side table between them, and Severus poured into a glass a very small amount for himself. There was a second empty glass, but Voldemort did not take anything to drink.

For a few moments, they neither spoke nor looked into each other's faces (though Severus stole entirely uninformative glances at Voldemort's gaunt, pale profile). Then Voldemort suddenly turned to look Severus straight in the eye.

"What would you like to know about us?" he asked.

Severus felt something within him instinctively shrink back. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

"You are not a pure-blood, nor did I permit Lucius to tell you much about me and my Death Eaters. But nevertheless you have decided to come. So what would you like to know?"

Severus thought. In school he had sometimes wanted very much to learn more about this dark Freemasonry, around which had swirled so many hints and allusions, for which many of the sons and daughters of illustrious pure-blood families with roots in Slytherin House were rumoured to be destined once they left school. Then had come the end of school and the beginning of adulthood, with its concerns of qualifying as an Apothecary and getting a job. Severus had forgotten about the Death Eaters until a Ministry dementor had Kissed the Death Eater Olaus Ruskin before his eyes.

But now that Severus thought about it, Lucius had taken specific opportunities even before that to drop hints about his own sympathies with the Death Eaters, as if he believed that Severus was something more than the son of a witch who had disgraced herself with a Muggle mill worker.

Had Lucius been instructed to consider the possibility? Looking into eyes that shone like fresh blood, Severus wondered.

Thus he replied to Voldemort's question with one of his own: "Why are you interested in me?"

Voldemort smiled. The teeth he revealed were few and impossibly narrow, like needles.

"That's easy," he said. "I'm interested in you because you are the very first person Lucius has seen fit to sponsor as a Death Eater."

_To sponsor as a Death Eater._ Lucius had never said the words. But really, why else was Severus here? Simply to chat with someone whom Lucius Malfoy went so far as to own as his lord, someone whom he so obviously feared?

If it came to that, why shouldn't Lucius sponsor Severus? Hadn't he as much to offer as any of those who were said to have joined the Death Eaters? To how many of them had he taught a Dark spell or two?

Except that, unlike them, he wasn't a pure-blood...

Voldemort had not taken his eyes off Severus. "It has piqued my interest, that Lucius should have finally stirred himself to recommend someone to me. And that, of all people, it should have been _you_."

Voldemort's tone of mild disbelief settled it. Severus wasn't a suitable candidate for the Death Eaters, probably because he _wasn't_ a pure-blood--

"Why, I wonder, does Lucius believe that someone with so much Light magic in him could be of any use to me?"

Severus stopped in the middle of his mental dither. "And is that how Lucius advertised me to you?" he asked. "On the strength of my Light magic?"

Voldemort chuckled. "No. But I had to admire his gall. No one else has ever suggested to me that I ought to recruit a wizard who can conjure a Patronus."

Taking this in, Severus was silent. "You see that as a drawback," he said.

Shrugging lightly, Voldemort sat back. "You took Magical Theory in your seventh year at Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well," said Voldemort. "Dumbledore taught it in my day and Lucius says he's still teaching it now. So he must have told your class the same thing he told mine: that no purely Dark wizard can conjure a Patronus."

Was that it, then--you needed to be purely Dark in order to become a Death Eater? "Lucius has told you about Azkaban," said Severus.

"Yes," Voldemort said. "Azkaban. "Where you not only conjured a Patronus, but linked it with that of another in order to dispel fifty dementors."

"I can see where that may not recommend me to you."

Again Voldemort laughed softly. "Show me your Patronus," he said then.

Instinctively Severus shied away from the request. "I--what?"

"You heard me. I want to see your Patronus." Voldemort rose and stepped away from his chair to the centre of the room.

Severus rose too. Why not do as he was asked? He would conjure the Patronus, Voldemort would dismiss him, and that would be that. He hadn't really thought the wizard who could command Lucius Malfoy and Olaus Ruskin would want him around, had he?

It was just that he had not felt the same allure, in anyone or anything, since the time he had immersed himself in the Dark Arts, since he had stretched his mind and moulded his soul to create spells like Breath-taker, Firewhip and Sectumsempra.

_Never mind._ Severus cleared his head of the tangle of questions and doubts and let the space fill with happiness.

_"Tuney's gone to Aunt Rose's for two weeks...."_

_Two weeks. Two weeks of summer, of long golden days and blue-tinted evenings. Or two solid weeks of mist and rain, who cares? It'll be two weeks free of the bony limbs, the shrill voice, the bitter envy of Lily's Muggle sister...._

_"Want to go to the playground, Lily?"_

_She does. She smiles, her green eyes alight, because she knows what they'll do. And soon they're doing it: soaring side-by-side on the playground swings, higher and higher. Just before touching the sky, they seize each other's hands and jump, flying clear of the swings, far above the asphalt, laughing, landing lightly at last on the little ribbon of rough, weedy grass between the asphalt and the chain-link fence._

Severus didn't need to speak the charm; he hardly needed to think it. He lifted his wand and from its tip sprang the silver doe.

Though it might earn him his dismissal from Voldemort's presence, though that dismissal might lose him all the benefits of Lucius's favour, Severus was proud of what he saw. This was no wispy vapour, but a fully-formed and precisely detailed Patronus: a doe, from the slender, strong limbs and graceful. compact body to the liquid, long-lashed eyes and the nose, tilted and twitching slightly as if scenting the wind.

The doe bounded once, turned and stopped short. She saw Voldemort, and the dew in her eyes turned to flame. She drew up, tense, her legs planted apart as if, Severus fancied, she were standing over a fawn.

Voldemort made no move for his wand. He fixed his cold and bloody eyes on the silver doe.

For a moment the doe stood her ground. Then she began to tremble. Head bowed, body crouching, she backed away, whirled and bolted for the furthest corner of Lucius's library. But before she reached that paltry shelter, Severus's Patronus shredded to misty fragments and disappeared.

His stomach knotting with fear, Severus stared into the shadowy corner that had seemed to swallow his Patronus. _That's that,_ he thought. Lucius had said the only consequence for Severus's refusing Voldemort would be a modified memory. Unfortunately, he hadn't mentioned what would happen if it was Voldemort who rejected Severus.

"Congratulations," said Voldemort.

Severus turned. His lips curved in a half-smile, Voldemort was watching him intently.

"I'm impressed," said Voldemort. "You produce one of the most powerful and integrated Patronuses I have ever seen."

"Er--thank you," said Severus.

Voldemort laughed, a high-pitched, bone-chilling sound that died as quickly as it was born. "Who taught you that?" he asked.

"Pro--pr--" Why was Severus stammering? "Professor Dumbledore," he said firmly.

For the first time, Voldemort showed a spontaneous and unadulterated emotion. It was astonishment. "Professor Dumbledore! Do you mean to tell me you were still at school?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?" Voldemort asked.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen. And under what circumstances would Professor Dumbledore teach a seventeen-year-old student how to conjure a Patronus?"

Severus hesitated. "Well--call it a detention."

"A detention. Tell me more."

"I can't. I'm sworn to secrecy."

Voldemort's eyes grew colder still and his smile disappeared. "You cannot keep secrets from me. Especially about Albus Dumbledore. Most especially, if you wish to join me."

With difficulty, Severus dragged his eyes away from Voldemort's distorted face. He looked at the corner into which his Patronus had disintegrated and thought that perhaps it was time to back out. _"Lucius meant well, don't blame him, but I don't think we'd suit each other after all..."_

No.

"But I must keep this secret." He was arguing with himself, as much as he was replying to Voldemort. "I've sworn an oath."

"To Dumbledore?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes," Severus whispered.

Then Severus felt a sudden painful, pounding pressure against his temples. He lifted his hand, but before he could touch his head, he felt it jerked around to face Voldemort, and the red, serpentine eyes stared into his own.

Severus felt his mind ransacked, thoughts, emotions and wisps of memory flung about like old clothes thrown from a drawer. The pressure against his head grew to agony, but he could make neither move nor sound to stop it. Then Voldemort's boring eyes and pale face drifted from his sight, like mist burned off by the morning sun. Now Severus could see nothing but a sword, upright as if held aloft, its hilt inlaid with rubies, its silver blade haloed with flame.

The pain and the vision disappeared, and Voldemort was merely looking at Severus again.

"I don't doubt it _was_ Dumbledore," he said. "The oath has bonds around it which I can't break, at least, not without breaking your mind. Is it an Unbreakable Vow?"

"No," Severus said, rather shakily.

"Good. You know now that I am a Legilimens, so you will, I have no doubt, answer my next question honestly. Is there any possibility that your secret can do me harm?"

"None that I know of," said Severus.

Again Voldemort sifted through Severus's mind, and this time Dumbledore's sword did not come to his aid. Nor did Severus dare try to throw Voldemort off as he had Scrimgeour. Yet Severus was sure Voldemort didn't see all he might have, for he felt parts of his mind closing off, as if behind walls of dark stone.

Voldemort withdrew suddenly, startling Severus.

"You have a remarkable instinct for self-protection," he said thoughtfully. "I wonder that Dumbledore did not teach you Occlumency while he was about it."

"Really, I can't see how it could harm you--"

Voldemort lifted a hand. "I'm certain of that, or I would have probed further." He motioned toward the chairs. "Sit. Have another glass of brandy."

They sat, and this time Voldemort drank with Severus. The wine rose warmly to Severus's head, easing the dull ache Voldemort's Legilimency had left.

"I've told you why I was interested in meeting you," Voldemort said, looking into the fire. "Now you tell me: why are you here?"

Severus hesitated. The most honest answer would have been, "Because Lucius invited me." Before Lucius had invited him, he had never thought he would meet pure-blood wizardry's hero. At least, not on a friendly basis.

"I am sure you think there is something I can give you in return for your allegiance," Voldemort said, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "Most who come to me do."

Were there Legilimentes who knew what you were thinking even when you weren't looking at them?

"I can tell when you are lying," Voldemort said softly. "Even when you are lying to yourself. So why not tell the simple truth?"

Severus looked at the Dark Lord, at the terrifying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He saw nothing but a long, thin hand holding a glass and the tips of a nose and chin protruding beyond the wing of the armchair. He looked away again and, like Voldemort, gazed into the fire.

The silence, the comfort of his chair, the warmth of fire and wine all worked on Severus like a soothing enchantment. Whether Voldemort could ferret out his lies or not, why should he not, for once, speak what was truly in his heart? If there might be something Voldemort could give him, why not ask for it? Why else was he here?

"Freedom," said Severus softly. "I want freedom."

"Ah, of course," said Voldemort. "And what does freedom mean to you?"

"Money." Voldemort might have expected a more exalted reply, but that was the first thing that came to Severus's mind. "My father's done nothing but drink and lose money at cards since the mill closed, and my mother, I'm afraid...." He hesitated, not wishing to disparage Mother before a stranger. "She's ill. She can't be expected to deal with it. We've re-mortgaged the house to pay my father's debts, but I still have to scramble to pay the bills at the end of the month." Severus stopped. His babbling must sound so low and grasping. How could money matter to someone like Voldemort?

"Poverty." Voldemort's voice lent a strange weight to the word, as if he might actually understand what it meant. "It can bind like any chain; it can drag at the body, the mind and the spirit."

"I don't need much," said Severus quickly.

"Of course not. Just enough to live without worries. Enough to make your mother comfortable. That's all."

"Yes, that's all!" Severus said. Could it be? Did Voldemort really understand?

Severus gathered his courage. "I'm afraid of the Ministry," he said in a low voice. "Crouch. Reid. I spoiled their plan for using dementors on interrogations in Azkaban."

"You weren't the only one," said Voldemort. "There was Potter."

"What does the Ministry matter to Potter!" said Severus. "They won't take away _his_ job, as if he even _needed _to work! Oh, I suppose I'm safe for now, Lucius pulled strings for me, but that doesn't mean they don't know!"

"About the Hidden Hellebore."

It was as well that Voldemort knew, since Severus had been about to blurt it out. "Yes," he said.

"I can tell you that you are not in danger of losing your job," Voldemort said. "Lucius has extracted promises from all the concerned parties, and the name of Malfoy, I assure you, wields a great deal of influence in the Ministry of Magic. For now." Voldemort paused. "There are subtler pressures which those you have angered could exert, however. They could block your advancement. You could be stooped over the cauldrons in the Potions and Physics Department of St Mungo's Hospital for many years to come."

He was right, of course. Reflecting on that bleak prospect, Severus said nothing.

"Maybe what you're really looking for is freedom from the blood hierarchy," Voldemort said musingly. "Take the Azkaban fiasco. If you were a pure-blood, it's the Ministry who'd have worried, not you. They'd have reprimanded Crouch for treating the dementors like house-elves, giving them practically every chore that needed doing in Azkaban. They'd have bought your silence by giving you some sinecure that paid a tidy income. As they seem to have done with James Potter."

Potter. The very sound of the name made Severus's blood boil. Heaven forbid that Harold Potter should not make his son's way as smooth in life as it had been in school, now that the aforementioned son, having got over his brief bout of idealism, had abandoned Auror training.

During their trip from the fortress to the mainland, Potter had told Severus he would go to work for his father. Doing what? Nothing, as far as Severus could tell. But that was fine. Potter didn't need work, didn't need money, didn't need anything, Severus supposed, but whatever mysterious charm it was that had got Lily Evans to marry him.

"Yes, Severus," said Voldemort softly. "I've never mentioned it to Lucius and the others. But it _happens_ for them, doesn't it, as it never will for us. Life is _given_ to them. While the likes of you and me must _take_ it."

Severus stared at Voldemort, who looked back at him with a small smile flitting about his lips.

The truth clicked into place. Severus's hand shook, setting the brandy in his glass quivering, like the surface of a lake at the first gust of the storm. He set the glass down. "You are not a pure-blood," he whispered.

"No, I am not." Voldemort's voice was as smooth as Severus's was unsteady. "My father was a Muggle."

Like mine, Severus thought. He looked into the fire and let this new truth sink in.

"The others don't know," he said at last.

"No one knows who doesn't need to know," Voldemort replied. "And I of course intend to keep it that way."

"I understand," said Severus, thinking that Voldemort need not have worried about him betraying the truth. This was a secret he intended to treasure close to his heart, something he could think of every time he looked at Lucius and, if he joined them, the other Death Eaters. The vaunted Lord of the Pure-bloods was a half-blood. Lord Voldemort, their Dark Lord, wasn't like Lucius Malfoy, Olaus Ruskin, Regulus Black, Evan Rosier or any of the other pure-blood Slytherin schoolboys who had worshipped him. Lord Voldemort was like Severus Snape.

"Yes. Freedom from the blood hierarchy. I'll never have that, though, until they respect me." Severus looked at Voldemort, into a pale face, into glistening red eyes. "You're the likes of me. You understand. They'll never give me their respect. I'll have to take it."

"You've done that, haven't you?" said Voldemort. "Ruskin respected you. Lucius wants to sponsor you."

"Because I taught Ruskin Dark magic. Lucius knows. He told you, didn't he?"

Voldemort did not answer.

"_That's_ how you make them respect you. _That's_ how you make them fear you, and they know it. Why else have they made the Dark Arts illegal? _You_ know." Looking into those eyes, Severus was certain of it. "_That's_ what freedom is, to learn and practise the Dark, untrammelled by law, unthreatened by envy. And when I have learnt those arts--well..." His voice fell. "Let them despise my blood, as long as they fear my power. That's respect enough for me."

Though in his heart he had yearned for it, painfully and resentfully, for a very long time, Severus had never spoken his wish to anyone. Now he had announced it to the one wizard to whom such powers were second nature, who saw such respect as no more than his due. Head bowed, Severus waited through the silence for the mocking laughter, the contemptuous dismissal.

They didn't come. "The Dark Arts are that," Voldemort agreed mildly instead. "A way of commanding the respect of your inferiors. But they are also, of course, much more."

Severus looked up. Voldemort, having turned in his seat, was regarding him with intent curiosity.

"The Dark Arts," Voldemort said, "are more than petty vengeance, more than getting one over on the other fellow. The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. They are unfixed, mutating, indestructible. And they have their beauty, an intoxicating, even ecstatic beauty." Voldemort cocked his head slightly. "I think even this Light wizard, this wizard who can conjure a Patronus...I think even he may know what I am talking about."

Severus said nothing aloud. But a wordless affirmative bloomed in his mind like a flower. He knew.

"I'd need proof of it, of course, especially if you wish to join my Death Eaters," Voldemort said. "But I think you could give it to me. If you'd like."

"What sort of proof?" Severus asked.

"Lucius tells me you create spells. Sometimes extraordinarily powerful spells. It has come to my attention that not only did you invent Sectumsempra, you know how to counter it."

Severus looked at him in astonishment. Voldemort smiled easily.

"Word gets around, you know," he said. "My ranks are full of your old schoolmates, and St Mungo's is hardly a secretive place."

"I see," said Severus.

"Did you invent the counter-curse as well?" Voldemort asked curiously.

"Yes."

"Amazing. You must show me; I simply must see!" Voldemort sprang to his feet and went to the door. "Lucius!"

Lucius entered at once, as if he had been waiting just outside the door. Severus rose, baffled, and Voldemort beckoned each of them to the centre of the room. "Come, Lucius, Severus!"

As Severus drew closer to him, he saw that Lucius was paler than ever, and his eyes held a look of fey, mad fear. Yet his face was calm, as still as if sculpted from stone.

"A test," said Voldemort. "Yes, Lucius, we have reached that point. Your protégé has thus far impressed me, and so your judgement in recommending him to me has thus far been vindicated. But now it must be tested further. Were you right to put forward a wizard who is such a confusing conflation of Light and Dark? Can he subdue those two factions at war in his soul and place them both at my service?"

Lucius's hands trembled slightly at his sides. But his back was straight, he looked Voldemort in the eye and his voice was steady when he answered. "You will find, my lord, that Severus is exactly what you want."

"Well, I rather hope he's what _you_ want, Lucius, because _I_ don't know how to counter Sectumsempra." Voldemort turned to Severus. "Cast the curse on him. Then heal him. He's still of use to me, you see, so I'd rather not lose him just yet."

Severus tried to obey. He tore his eyes away from Voldemort's face and turned toward Lucius. But after that, he might as well have been Petrified. He couldn't raise his wand. He couldn't move a muscle. He could do no more than stare into Lucius's reckless eyes.

"I want to see what you're made of, you understand," said Voldemort. "You--_can_ do it, can't you?"

"I can do it," said Severus. Invisible bonds seemed to fall away from his body, and he lifted his wand at last. He put Lucius in his sights and he cleared his mind. This was so different, in so many ways, from the last time he had cast Sectumsempra on a human being, and yet some things were the same. He saw Lucius framed in darkness like a night mist. His mind, clean of every distraction, filled with the desire to slice flesh, cut into muscle, sever blood vessels.

_Sectumsempra._

Light flashed from Severus's wand. He heard a short, harsh scream and a thud. Then his vision cleared.

Lucius lay flat on the floor, bleeding scarlet into the robin's-egg blue of the Persian rug. He grasped feebly at his chest, where a shining red stream flowed over his hand and arm. His eyes were wide and staring, and his mouth hung open. He was gasping for breath, and when blood pouring from a gash on his cheek trickled into his mouth, he choked.

Severus stared down at Lucius. His heart was pounding in the aftershock of the power that had just surged through him; his fingers still tingled hotly with magic. Lucius, he thought, looked like the hedgehog Ruskin had trained on when he had learned Sectumsempra.

But he mustn't Stun Lucius as he'd Stunned the hedgehog; he mustn't let Lucius die. No. He was supposed to heal Lucius.

Severus approached Lucius and was about to kneel beside him when Voldemort said, "Wait."

Lucius was clearly in pain. His eyes were desperate with it, though he made no sound but the gurgling of his blood-thickened breathing. Nevertheless Severus waited.

"Wait," said Voldemort. "You have not told me everything. I see that now."

Severus did not move. His Dark intent and the power he had called upon to fulfil it were shadows writhing sinuously around his heart.

"You said you wanted freedom, and you gave me examples of what it meant to you. But you did not give me every one. You did not tell me the wish that lies closest to your heart. Tell the truth, Severus: what do you really want?"

"Freedom," Severus said, still looking down at Lucius, whose convulsive shudders had grown weaker. "Freedom from Tobias Snape."

"Your father."

"My father," Severus said. Lucius coughed and spat blood. Finally, as if he could no longer hold it in, he moaned in pain. "Freedom from my father for my mother and me."

For several moments, nothing could be heard but the crackling of the fire and the sound of Lucius's struggles.

"Believe me when I say I understand you," Voldemort said then. "Oh, by the way, you'd better see to Lucius, hadn't you?"

Again it felt to Severus as though some restraint had been released. He fell to his knees beside Lucius, and it seemed the easiest thing in the world to fill his mind with the healing song of Textum.

---

"Go to your room," Voldemort said when Severus was done. "I'll have the house-elf see to him."

"Dittany--" Severus began.

"Lucius got in a supply when I told him my plan." Voldemort did not lift his eyes from Lucius's unconscious body. "Go. The house-elf will take care of the rest."

Severus went. Until he reached his room and saw the neatly made-up four-poster bed, he did not realise how exhausted he was. He took off his shoes, lay down on the bed and fell at once into murky, blood-tinged dreams.

---

Late that evening, Dobby roused Severus from sleep with Voldemort's summons. Severus met Lucius and Voldemort in the study.

The Persian rug was entirely blue again and Narcissa was still quite conveniently out. Lucius and Voldemort sat in the fireside armchairs and both were smiling. Dittany ointment shone on Lucius's face. Beneath the clear ointment, Severus could see that Lucius's scars were already no more than thin white lines.

"There you are, Severus!" said Voldemort. "We were just talking about you. I was telling Lucius that he knows how to choose his friends." He rose and went to the fireplace. He began to reach for the Floo powder on the mantel, then stopped and turned to Severus. "You have not made your mind up and neither have I. We both have much to think about." He took the jar of Floo powder. "Let us both take the time we need."

"You're leaving, my lord?" asked Lucius.

"Yes. I have other business to attend to. Regrettably so, for I've spent a rewarding afternoon in fascinating company."

It seemed an undeserved compliment as far as Severus was concerned, for his brain felt at the moment like a wad of cotton wool. Lacking the courage to press Voldemort further, he said nothing.

Apparently Lucius felt no similar qualm. "Do you think--?"

"Don't worry, Lucius. When a decision _is_ made, you will be among the first to know. In the meantime..." Voldemort let his disconcerting, slit-pupilled red eyes rest on each of them in turn. "In the meantime, I must request that neither of you mention the day's events to anyone. Not even to Narcissa, Lucius," he said, as if in answer to an unspoken question. "Not yet."

"Yes, my lord," said Lucius.

The same answer slipped easily from Severus's lips: "Yes, my lord."

Voldemort's mouth again curved into its version of a smile. "Good. Till we meet again, then." Turning, he flung a handful of Floo powder into the grate and stepped into the fire. The emerald flames coiled around him like serpents for a few moments. Then he disappeared.


	12. Chapter 12

THE REMUS LUPIN STUDY GROUP

Early winter, 1975-76

Christmas was coming. According to gossip Severus had overheard from the Gryffindor table at breakfast one morning, Potter and Black were going home for the holiday. If Severus stayed at school, Evan Rosier was the only other sixth-year boy with whom he would share the dormitory. Thus, thinking it would be more peaceful at Hogwarts than at home, Severus wrote to his mother to ask whether she particularly wanted him at Christmas.

Severus did not include his father in the inquiry, because he didn't care what Tobias wanted. He called his father Tobias now even to his face; since he had turned sixteen, he had not been able to address the Muggle (as he had come to think of him) as Father.

He wouldn't have asked Mother--he would simply have told her that he was going to stay--except that she always did seem to want him around. More than that, Severus had begun to sense, she needed him.

The way Severus saw it, the two of them stood together against the one-man witch hunt that was Tobias Snape. But there was something more to it, something that made him feel more grown-up, more of a man when he was at home with Mother. Sometimes he liked that feeling; sometimes he didn't. He had never analysed it further. The few times he'd tried had brought forth nothing but an uncomfortable, slightly resentful confusion.

Mother's dowdy little tawny owl returned promptly with her reply.

_"Of course you should stay, Severus! Of course a boy your age would rather spend Christmas with his friends than with his boring old mum!"_

_Mum?_ Mother never referred to herself as _Mum._

_"Besides, as there isn't much work at the mill, they've put your father on leave until after the New Year. We'll have a nice, cosy Christmas together, just the two of us...."_

Severus rather doubted it. Mother had always made an effort, but he couldn't remember any cosy Christmases, and he didn't see why this one should be any different.

But he'd rub along well enough at school. Ruskin, Lestrange, Avery and Wilkes would all be gone, but Severus wouldn't need their support. Without Potter and his sidekick Black to spur them on, Lupin and Pettigrew weren't much of a threat. In Potter's absence, it might even occasionally occur to Lupin to act like a prefect.

Severus wouldn't be hanging about much with Rosier, either. Vera Vaisey, who fancied Rosier more than ever, was also staying at school for Christmas. The two of them would likely spend most of their time in empty classrooms, if they could stay out of Peeves's way.

---

Christmas morning came with snow and a wind that howled around the eaves and rattled the castle windows. Severus was up early, while Rosier was still asleep, because he was fairly certain he didn't want Rosier to see what Mother had sent him for Christmas.

The package was lumpy, but the card, festooned with a miniature garland of holly, was quite pretty. Inside was a note in Mother's spidery handwriting:

_"I hope you like them, Severus. The castle can get cold in winter, and I saw you needed a new set the last time you were home._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Love, Mother."_

Severus opened the package to find a set of woollen socks and long underwear, which, along with the wrapping paper and card, he quickly stowed in his trunk.

They were new at least, he thought, looking at the trunk for a moment after he had locked it. Mother had probably bought them on sale at the mill store.

He didn't look for a present from Tobias. He knew the Muggle wouldn't have sent him one.

"That you, Severus?"

Severus looked up to see Rosier poking his head out between the bed curtains. He didn't wait for Severus to answer before he climbed out of bed, dug his toothbrush out of a drawer and wandered off to the bathroom.

Rosier was back, washed and dressed, before he attacked the elaborate red velvet bow on the package that had been waiting for him all morning at the foot of his bed. Out from the glittering gold paper he drew a mahogany box polished to a high gleam.

"Oh, excellent!" he said.

He opened the box. It was a chess set: boxwood and ebony men lay inside it on a green baize lining. Suddenly, riding on the backs of dragons, the black and white knights flew out of the box. As the rest of the men marched from the case (the Kings and Queens bringing up the rear with great dignity), the knights soared to opposite corners of the ceiling. Whirling around, they zoomed straight at each other and began to joust.

Rosier watched it all with a huge grin on his face. Clearly he liked his Christmas present.

"Who's it from?" asked Severus.

"My mum and dad," said Rosier. "It was Dad's idea, though, I bet. Nothing he likes better than a rough game of chess."

The knights descended and, along with the other chessmen, returned in good order to the box. Rosier closed up the chess set and, placing it on his bedside table, admired it for a moment. Then he turned to Severus. "What did you get?"

"Nothing," Severus said flatly. "My parents couldn't afford it. My father's on leave from the mill this year."

Rosier blinked. "Oh." He indicated his new chess set. "Want to play?"

"No, I want to go to breakfast. I'm starving." Severus swallowed at the bitter lump in his throat. "Maybe after."

"Okay." Rosier shoved his hands in his pockets and moved in his easy, slouching way toward the door. Severus followed, and, with Rosier's back to him, he did not try to keep his mouth from twisting into a knot of jealous anger.

---

Severus smoothed his expression the moment he and Rosier stepped into the common room, for Vera Vaisey was there, panting after Rosier like an overeager puppy. After giving Severus the briefest of greetings, she battened on Rosier and practically dragged him through the common room door into the corridor.

Rosier murmured something into Vaisey's ear, which set her giggling. Severus fell back and allowed them to disappear around a corner. Though he could hear their echoing laughter all the way, he didn't see them again until he reached the stone stairway that led to the entrance hall.

Somewhat to Severus's surprise, Vera and Rosier were waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Vera looked impatient, but Rosier was grinning.

"Come on, Severus!" he said. "Vera says her stomach's growling."

Vera slapped his forearm lightly. "I did _not!" _

Rosier laughed. He opened the door and for a moment was silhouetted black by the shaft of light that fell from the entrance hall into the stairwell. Then, with Vera in hot pursuit and Severus trailing a few steps behind, he led the way in to breakfast.

---

Severus allowed that the house-elves under Professor Flitwick's direction had outdone themselves in decorating the Great Hall. Christmas trees, aglow with everlasting candles, their boughs heavy with shiny baubles, adorned every wall and corner of the hall. White banners trimmed with silver hung from the arches, holly and mistletoe garlanded the walls and every window sill was embellished with a wreath. Thick grey storm clouds scudded across the enchanted ceiling, but the snow that fell from them was nothing like the icy, wind-driven flakes that piled up on the windows outside. The enchanted snow was warm and dry, and as soon as it struck any surface, it vanished without a trace.

All of this splendour was on display to a nearly empty hall. Three of the House tables were gone. The remaining table stood directly beneath the high table, and at it sat a smattering of students. Four teachers were seated at the high table: Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Slughorn and Flitwick.

Professor Dumbledore rose, beaming, when Severus, Evan Rosier and Vera Vaisey entered the room. "Ah, here is our Slytherin contingent! Vera, Evan, Severus--Merry Christmas to you!" With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the students' table. "An inter-house table. I thought you'd all be rather lonely, sitting scattered in twos and threes at tables throughout the hall, so I took the Sorting Hat's occasional urgings toward house unity to heart. Please, sit down!"

The Slytherins approached warily. Evan and Vera looked as suspicious as Severus felt. Dumbledore might have been sincere about the house unity business (Severus had come to the conclusion that when Dumbledore said this sort of thing, he actually meant it), but Severus doubted the students stuck at the inter-house table thought much of it.

As they drew near, however, Severus saw a bright side to the arrangement: the only sixth-year Gryffindor sitting at the table was Peter Pettigrew.

So Lupin had gone home after all. Well, that stood to reason, if Lupin's frequent absences were actually due to his mother's illness. He'd returned from the latest relapse less than a week ago. So recently recovered, Mrs Lupin would surely want her son home for Christmas.

"We've only a few stragglers to wait for," said Professor Dumbledore, who had sat back down. "We'll wait breakfast for them; I hate to stick to too strict a schedule at Christmas. Perhaps they're opening the last of their presents." He turned to McGonagall. "What do you think, Prof--"

The door to the entrance hall opened and Dumbledore broke off. Remus Lupin and Lily Evans came in, shepherding a couple of Gryffindor first-years.

As they approached the students' table, Lily looked up at Dumbledore. "Sorry, sir. Henrietta and Max, erm, overslept."

"Oh, that's quite all right," said Dumbledore. "End of term exams, the excitement of Christmas. It's easy to lose sleep around this time of year, and hard to go without it when you're young."

Though Dumbledore went on in this easygoing, placating vein, Henrietta looked at him with awe and Max with a barely-controlled terror he was trying to disguise as nonchalance. "I told you," Lily whispered as they sat down opposite Pettigrew. "It's like eating breakfast with Father Christmas."

"Father Christmas doesn't exist," said Max.

"I'm not so sure about that," said Henrietta, still staring round-eyed at Dumbledore, as if she'd never seen him before. She never had seen him this close before, Severus supposed.

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Thank you for your confidence, Henrietta." Slughorn laughed, but he was looking at Lily.

"A prefect's duty is never done, eh, Lily, my girl?" he said.

Lily smiled at Slughorn without replying, and Severus felt a twinge of pity for her. Slughorn was so absurd sometimes, it had to be difficult even for Lily Evans to know how to answer him.

But, though Slughorn had of course ignored that fact, Lily wasn't the only Gryffindor prefect at the breakfast table. Lupin was grinning with amusement at the two Gryffindor first-years, while handing them the platters full of bacon and eggs which had appeared as soon as they had sat down. He hadn't gone home to spend Christmas with his mother. He was here at Hogwarts.

While his bodyguards, Potter and Black, were not.

Severus helped himself to breakfast and worked on it for a while. When he had finished his eggs and was chewing on the last of his toast, he looked around. On his left, Vaisey and Rosier, ignoring him in favour of each other, were talking about the dull family gatherings they had escaped by remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas. Straight above Severus, at the high table, Dumbledore was cheerfully pouring out cups of butterbeer for the other teachers.

The Gryffindors were a couple of seats to Severus's right. That is, the sixth-years were there: Henrietta and Max, having slipped out of the direct supervision of their prefects, were playing Exploding Snap at the end of the table.

Lupin and Lily, sniggering at the first-years, obviously couldn't have cared less. McGonagall, meanwhile, didn't even seem to hear the explosions. Her cheeks pink from the consumption of Dumbledore's generous Christmas cheer, she was laughing at something Professor Flitwick had just said.

Severus furtively watched the three sixth-year Gryffindors. Lily, having been a prefect with Lupin for three months, treated him as a friend, as she'd once treated Severus. Lupin responded as Severus might have expected, with a craven desire to please that nearly matched his foot-licking loyalty to Potter.. Pettigrew, who had seemed a bit reserved when Lily had first sat down across from him, was now laughing along with Lupin at her jokes.

Severus looked away. He didn't want to be caught staring at Lily.

It was odd about Lupin, though, wasn't it? Didn't he want to be with his sick mother at Christmastime?

Perhaps she had insisted she was fine, as Severus's mother had done. But how could Lupin believe that, when he had already gone home several times that term to be with her? Her illness could be no small matter: Severus remembered that Hogsmeade Saturday when the mention of his mother's poor health had been enough to induce terror in Lupin and a startling anger in his three friends. There was something about Mrs Lupin's illness that went beyond illness, something that all four of Potter's gang had united to keep secret.

And it had been going on for longer than one term. Severus remembered Lupin's absences in previous years. He remembered hearing whispers from the other students about Remus Lupin's mother.

None of the whisperers had seemed to know what afflicted her. No one knew, apparently, but the teachers who let Lupin out of lessons and Lupin's three closest friends. Much of the close-knit secrecy of Potter's gang seemed to revolve around Lupin. The other three were oddly protective of a wizard who, as far as Severus could tell, was every bit as strong as they were.

And Lupin seemed as strong in spirit as in magical power. Here he was, less than a week back from his mother's sickbed, laughing with Lily and Pettigrew as if he hadn't a care in the world. If it were only the first time his mother had been sick, Severus could see it: he might be gay from relief at her full recovery. But how could Lupin truly believe that she was out of danger? How many days had he missed just this term?

Severus thought back. About three weeks into term, Lupin had been absent from the N.E.W.T.s classes they took together...then, a little less than a week before Severus had cast the Firewhip on Pettigrew...next, not too long after Severus had helped Lily brew the Draught of Living Death in Potions...finally, about a week before Christmas...

Every time he had been absent, Lupin had been gone for three or four days. Every time on his return, he had looked worn, as if he'd sat long and anxious vigils. Every time, he had quickly recovered and shown no sign of lingering worry. It was strange. It seemed unnatural in someone like Lupin, who, give him that much, was the most decent of his set.

Severus slid a couple of seats over, next to Pettigrew. Pettigrew eyed him warily.

Severus ignored him, looking at Lupin instead. "Strange that you're here, Lupin," he said. "Did you have to stay?"

"Why do you care?" demanded Pettigrew.

Severus turned to look curiously into Pettigrew's belligerent face. Like Potter and Black, Pettigrew had leapt to defend Lupin against something that fell far short of an attack. Like Potter and Black, he'd spoken for Lupin before Lupin had had a chance to speak for himself.

Severus didn't know how Lupin felt about that. But he had no intention of putting up with it. He turned back to Lupin. "I mean, wouldn't you rather be home for Christmas?"

"What about Peter and me? We've stayed too. Don't you feel sorry for us?" Lily asked sarcastically.

Severus didn't answer. He was watching Lupin's face. Certainly there was fear, but Lupin crushed it instantly. "Oh, no, Lily. He's only interested in me. I've stayed because I've fallen behind in my schoolwork. Lily and Peter are helping me catch up."

Well, that was possible. N.E.W.T.s lessons were far more demanding than those at the ordinary levels. Lupin's frequent absences from school might be catching up with him at last. Still... "But your sick mother," said Severus. "Won't she miss you? Doesn't she want to see you?"

"What about _your_ mother? Doesn't she need you?" Lupin's voice held a tinge of contempt, almost as if he _knew_--

"My mother doesn't need me! She's a perfectly capable witch--!" Severus clamped his mouth shut. A small, satisfied smile appeared on Lupin's face.

"Leave my mother out of it!" snarled Severus.

"Why should he, when you started it, Snape, like you always do!" said Pettigrew. "Sticking your foot-long nose into other people's business! Who asked you, anyway?"

Severus turned on him. "No need to put on a performance for Potter and Black, Pettigrew, since they're not here. Give in to your true nature. Go ahead and be the coward you are."

Pettigrew reddened. "You--"

"Let's leave Potter, Black and our mothers out of it, shall we?" Lily interrupted irritably. "Remus is trying to catch up, and we're helping him, just like we said. In fact, Severus, if you're so interested in Remus's welfare, maybe you could help."

"Help?" said Severus and Pettigrew together.

"What do you mean, help?" said Lupin.

"I mean help. Lend a hand. Cooperate," said Lily. "Yes, why not? Do you know how sick to death everyone is of you lot and your constant bickering? Do you know how much we all wish you would just grow up?" Her face had the same look of intensely passionate annoyance that Severus had often seen on it when she was around Potter.

"You've lost your mind," said Pettigrew, with none of his usual fawning diffidence. He jabbed a finger at Severus. "I am not staying in any study group with _him._ And neither is Remus."

Lupin said nothing. Severus, though he had any number of retorts on the tip of his tongue, also kept quiet.

"No!" said Lily, so sharply that she caught McGonagall's eye for a moment. Fortunately, McGonagall was distracted when one of Henrietta's cards blew up in a particularly loud explosion. Nevertheless Lily waited until McGonagall had returned to her conversation with Flitwick before she went on in a lower voice. "I mean, I'm just saying, Remus could use Severus's help. Severus is every bit as good as I am in Potions and better in Defence Against the Dark Arts. And those are the subjects where Remus has the most work to make up."

"We don't need Snape!" said Pettigrew. "You're _better _than he is in Potions; Slughorn says so! And James and Sirius are better in Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

It was harder than ever for Severus to keep his mouth shut. But he managed it.

"James and Sirius won't be back until after the New Year, when lessons start again," Lupin pointed out. "The teachers say I have to be caught up by then."

That was precisely it, wasn't it? With Black and Potter gone, with the opportunity to spend hours, perhaps, with Lupin, this might be Severus's best chance--his _only_ chance--to find out what Lupin and his friends were hiding.

"It doesn't matter what the rest of you want," Severus said. "The only thing that matters is what Lupin wants." He met Lupin's eyes. "Do you want my help?"

Lupin looked at him steadily. "I could use it."

"Then I can help you," said Severus.

_"Remus--"_ said Pettigrew.

"You'll stay in the group, won't you, Peter?" Lupin's voice was calm, but Severus was sure he saw a look of pleading flit through Lupin's eyes.

Pettigrew stared at Lupin in disbelief. "All right, yeah," he said finally. "I'll stay."

Baffled, Lily looked from Lupin, to Pettigrew, to Severus. She clearly saw nothing in any of their faces to ease her bewilderment. "All right?" she said. "We're on, then? Starting tomorrow?"

"I'm on, anyway," said Lupin, giving her a cheerful smile.

"Fine with me," said Severus.

Pettigrew hesitated, his eyes full of suspicion when he looked at Severus, "All right," he said reluctantly.

---

On Christmas night, Severus and Rosier were in the Slytherin common room, playing chess with Rosier's new set. Rosier's bishop slid over to Severus's knight and, with an improbably powerful sweep of his crook, batted the knight and his scaly mount off the board.

"What were you and the Gryffindors on about?" Rosier asked.

Severus contemplated the board without answering. He hadn't learned how to play chess until he had arrived at Hogwarts, and he was by no means as good a player as Rosier. At last he decided to take the bishop. He moved his rook and bowled the bishop off the board. Groaning histrionically, the bishop rolled from the table to the floor.

Severus spent another moment in silence, deciding how to reply. "Lupin's been out of school, missed a lot of work this term. I'm going to help him catch up," he said finally.

Rosier stared at him, then laughed in astonishment. "What?! _Why?"_

"That's between me and Potter's gang." Severus sounded much cooler than he felt. "And besides, unless you enjoy being hexed, you don't want Potter thinking you're nosing about his friend's business."

Rosier fixed Severus with a keen gaze. "But _you're_ nosing about Potter's friend's business."

"Do you really think Potter could hound me much more than he already does?"

"Good point." Rosier looked back at the board. _"Hey." _He moved his queen diagonally across the board. It stopped before Severus's queen and punched her so hard in the face that she somersaulted through the air and landed on the hearthrug with a thud. "Checkmate."

Severus sighed. But, as Rosier asked no more questions about Lupin, he decided his defeat was worth it.

---

Lupin's study group had its first meeting on Boxing Day. Lily had got permission from Professor McGonagall to use an empty classroom on the fourth floor.

"She gaped like a fish after I told her you were joining us, Severus. It must have been a good half-minute before she could talk properly. Then she sort of stuttered out that your commendable spirit of teamwork and cooperation had earned you twenty points for Slytherin." Smiling at Severus, her eyes emerald-bright, Lily looked as pleased as if it had been she who had won the twenty points.

"Good on you, Severus," said Lupin, and Severus could detect no insincerity in his voice, while Pettigrew's snort of contempt gained him nothing but Lily's reproving glance.

---

The study group quickly settled into a routine, with Severus exercising himself to please the Gryffindors as he had never done before. It wasn't easy, but, as he laboured to smother the observations on their incompetence which Lupin and Pettigrew so richly deserved, he reminded himself of his goal: to find out exactly what it was Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew were hiding from the rest of the school.

Lily had been right: Lupin lagged furthest behind in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, so Severus actually ended up spending more time with him than she and Pettigrew did.

Severus used that time to win Lupin's trust. He worked with him on nonverbal defensive spells (Lupin was dismal at first, worse even than Pettigrew, but he caught on quickly) and on revising Potions recipes (deciding as he did so that Lupin was never going to be an Extraordinary Potioneer).

But Severus made progress, and not only at dinning facts into Lupin's head. After a couple of days of lessons revision, Lupin's smiles weren't quite so false, the tolerance in his voice not quite so contrived, and the enclosed, withdrawn look occasionally left his eyes.

Severus was patient. There were opportunities to do what he had joined the study group to do, but none of them were worth the risk until the group were well into the third day of their meetings.

They had returned from lunch. Wintry sunlight fell through the classroom windows, shining on silvery dust motes and the flow of Lily's long red hair as she bustled about, organising Lupin's papers and dividing the group into pairs: herself and Pettigrew, to read over a Charms essay Lupin was to submit to Professor Flitwick the next day, and Severus and Lupin, to continue revising the Potions lessons Lupin had missed.

"It's Everlasting Elixirs next, isn't it, Severus?" asked Lupin.

Severus nodded, and Lupin riffled through the pages of _Advanced Potion-Making_ until he found the recipe. "I really need to get these down. Slughorn says he wants me to brew one for him before the start of term." He ran his finger down the list of ingredients. "Let's see, here's the easiest one...you start with two drams of liquefied amber..."

Severus drew his wand out of his pocket. Silently and surreptitiously, he cast Muffliato.

"Everlasting Elixirs," said Severus. "Their effects--well, maybe they're not everlasting, but they're certainly very prolonged. That's why Healers use them for chronically ill people who have a lot of relapses."

"Hm, doesn't say so in the book."

"Oh, well, books don't tell you everything, do they?"

Lupin sat quite still for a moment. Then, slowly, he looked up. "What sort of illnesses do these people have?"

"Bonham's Palsy. Liver Languish. Recurrent scrofungulus. That last one's dangerous, because the people in relapse are contagious. Your mother have something like that?"

Severus threw the question out very casually. Nevertheless, Lupin's eyes got that closed-in look again. "No. She doesn't."

"What does she have?"

Lupin didn't answer.

"It's just that nobody in the entire school seems to know what's wrong with your mother," said Severus.

"That," said Lupin softly, "is because it's nobody's business."

Severus shrugged. "Suit yourself. I just wondered, that's all."

"You've been wondering since October. Since you hit Peter with that burning spell."

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Lily and Pettigrew rub their ears and look around the room. "Yes, well, now I know you want to keep it private," he said placatingly.

Lupin stared at him and said nothing. And now Lily was looking at him too. Severus had to reverse the Muffliato soon, before she worked out what was going on.

"Hadn't we better carry on?" he said to Lupin. "I've played around with the Everlasting Elixir you've decided to brew and worked out a few shortcuts that aren't in the book. They earned me top marks from Slughorn. Want me to show you?"

Lupin gazed at him. The silence stretched out until Severus thought he would snap. _Say something, damn you--!_

"All right," said Lupin quietly. "I'll take any help I can get."

Severus countered the Muffliato spell, then said quickly, "You see, I tried chopping up some angelica root and putting it into the first simmering with the amber. That made the potion a lot stronger. One ounce did the trick." As Lupin made a note of his recommendation, Severus stole a glance at Lily and Pettigrew.

"...it could have been a fly in the window or my ears ringing," Lily was saying. "Whatever it was, it's gone now."

Pettigrew frowned at the window. "Yeah, it's gone," he said after a moment, and he and Lily returned to their correction of Lupin's essay.

---

It didn't matter, because he knew he'd get no more out of Lupin. Still, Severus hadn't counted on Potter and Black coming back to Hogwarts so soon. Instead of returning after the New Year with the rest of the students, they strode into the Great Hall at dinner time on the evening of the twenty-ninth of December.

Dumbledore's inter-house unity hadn't lasted, or at least he wasn't enforcing it any longer. After Christmas Day, the Great Hall had resumed its normal appearance, with its normal complement of four House tables stretching out beneath the teachers' high table. Without looking around, Potter and Black went straight to the Gryffindor table and sat with Lupin and Pettigrew.

Severus watched them curiously, for Black in particular had caught his eye. Black limped slightly as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. Under a thick layer of dittany ointment, he had what looked like a curse wound on his cheek, and in his eyes was a hard, restless look, as of anger boiling beneath a fragile surface calm.

The four huddled together and spoke too quietly for Severus to hear them. He imagined, however, that he had better brace himself for questions from Potter and Black. Well, he had always known Potter and Black would have questions, but he had counted on Ruskin and a full complement of his Slytherin defenders being back at school before he had to answer them.

Severus never went anywhere after that evening without keeping his hand very close to his wand. He couldn't expect Rosier to be at his side: Rosier took every opportunity he could to sneak off with Vera Vaisey. And, sure enough, it was only the next morning when Potter and Black cornered him in a corridor not far from the dungeon staircase.

"There's the bloody wanker."

Of course, they'd come at him from behind, so Severus heard Potter's hated voice a split-second before he drew his wand and spun around to face Potter himself. Beside Potter was Black, whose pale face and burning eyes gave Severus the sense of a volcano about to erupt.

They moved closer to Severus without yet trying to hex him or take his wand. "Nosey little sod," said Black. "What did you think you were playing at, shoving your way into Lily's study group?"

"I was doing what she asked me to do. I was helping Lupin."

"You're a liar," said Potter.

Severus laughed curtly. "Ah, I see. She _didn't_ ask the nance who fluffs his hair up every time she's around. Not getting any closer to going out with her, are you?"

Potter smiled tightly. He twirled his wand, making Severus tighten his grip on his own, but he stopped just short of a spell-flick. "Maybe I'll try blubbering outside the portrait hole all night. Think that'll work?"

"This isn't about Lily," said Black. "It's about Remus. Remember what Peter said, that Snape had some kind of spell going on so nobody'd hear what he was saying to Remus?"

"Yeah. Like he thought _Remus_ wouldn't tell us." Potter and Black were speaking to each other, but they had their eyes and wands fixed on Severus. Severus darted glances from one to the other, waiting for the slight uptick of a wand that presaged the firing of a spell. "Once again, Snivelly," Potter said, "what does it matter to you that Remus's mum is sick? I've never known you to give a shit about anybody but yourself."

"Come on, James, don't you ever listen? Peter's right. If Snivellus gave a damn about Remus's mother, he could send her a get-well card," said Black. "It's always the same with him, always been the same since year one. He's poking his great, greasy nose into Remus's business because he's hoping he'll find something out that will get Remus expelled."

"James! Sirius!" Severus heard Lupin's voice at the end of the corridor; he was coming to back up his friends. Knowing he couldn't take on all three of them at once, Severus aimed a hex at Potter.

"No!" bellowed Lupin. Racing down the corridor with his wand raised, he deflected the hex as it leapt from Severus's wand. The spell bounced off the nearest wall with a loud _crack!_

"Stop it right there, or I'll report all three of you, and you can spend your detention together!" said Lupin.

"But, Remus, don't you get it? Snape's still trying to--"

Lupin cut Potter off. "I know what he's trying to do, and I can take care of it myself! The last thing I need is you and Sirius getting into trouble over it! I knew it, I just _knew_ it, as soon as Peter told me you two had gone off together--" Biting his lip, Lupin stopped. "Besides," he said, forcing a smile, "Severus _did_ teach me something. I saved your arse with that nonverbal Shield Charm. Or didn't you notice?"

Neither Potter nor Black answered him. Like Severus, they were looking with wonder at Lupin transformed from one of Potter's craven hangers-on into a prefect in command, quelling the mischief Potter had made.

"Yeah, well, we're back," said Black after a moment. "You don't need his help any more."

"That's right. We're back," said Potter.

"You don't mind, do you, Severus?" said Lupin. "I mean, it's just easier, since James and Sirius are in my House. We can study together in the common room and the dormitory."

"Oh, save it, Lupin," said Severus contemptuously. "I really couldn't care less. In fact, I was beginning to get bored. You're a bit slow, you know."

"You really need to learn some manners, Snivelly," said Potter.

"Yeah. Consider us your study group," said Black, and they both raised their wands.

_"No!"_ cried Lupin, raising his own. Severus took advantage of the resulting confusion to slip past them, down the corridor, into the entrance hall and through the door that led to the dungeon staircase.

---

It wasn't until Regulus Black had returned from the Christmas holidays that Severus found out what had happened to Sirius.

"Oh, that," said Regulus, when Severus asked. "Yeah, he and my parents rowed over Christmas like there was no tomorrow. Well, you can imagine. Bad enough that Sirius should be sorted into Gryffindor. But that he should _like_ it, that he should become best friends with James Potter, the son of two of the worst blood traitors in Britain, who's growing up to be as bad as his parents.... You should hear him. It's always Mr Potter this, Mrs Potter that and when can James come to visit, you always let Reggie have _his_ mates at the holidays. Mum and Dad just got sick of it. Mum said Sirius could forget it, no Potter was going to set foot in her house while she drew breath. She didn't care if Sirius was so unnatural and disobedient a son as to keep up his friendship with James Potter. He was not to mention that boy's name in her presence ever again.

"Well, Sirius exploded. Started swearing up a storm. Called Mum and Dad every name in the book, and a few out of it. Doesn't take much to tick Mum off as it is, and Sirius made her so mad she cursed him. After that, he ran off."

"Ran off?" said Severus.

"Hobbled off, I should say." Regulus smirked. "Went to the Potters' and Mum and Dad say he can stay there, for all they care. They've disowned him. That's why Potter's father brought him and Sirius back to school early. He's Sirius's guardian now, so he had to sign papers with Dumbledore saying he's the one who should be notified if Sirius gets killed or something." Regulus sounded as though he thought nothing was more likely.

"I see," said Severus. That explained Black's curse wound, his limp, and a temper that was even worse than usual.

"Yeah," said Regulus, as if agreeing with Severus's unspoken thoughts. "So if you thought Sirius was touchy before, just wait."


	13. Chapter 13

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

Early Winter, 1979-80

It was the Christmas season, though Severus saw no sign of it in Accident and Emergency until he reached the reception area. Harding, glowering intently, was conjuring everlasting candles and tucking them carefully among the bright leaves and berries of the holly garland decorating his desk.

It wouldn't do to disturb Harding at his travails. Without greeting him, Severus pushed his potions trolley past the reception desk and into the department.

"That's what I _said!"_ a drunken voice bellowed from one of the treatment bays Severus passed on his way to the potions storage cabinet. "Geordie told me he'd jinxed my nose so nobody'd be able to put it back on right, and see? You can't put it back on right, now, can you?"

"Well, not right away, perhaps, Mr MacIntyre. But as I said, if you'll give the charm some time to work--"

"Time, Missy! Don't have time! What about me mates back home, waitin' fer the beer...." The voice trailed off into an unintelligible slur and Lily Potter dashed out of the bay.

"Don't have time is right," she muttered after the curtain had swung shut behind her. "Maybe you and your mates don't need any more beer--oh, hi, Severus." She rushed into the next bay without waiting for him to reply.

Severus understood. Besides Lily, he had seen only Barrows, another Trainee Healer, scurrying about the department. In fact, he was glad to be saved the trouble of making idle chatter. As Potions and Physics was as short-staffed over Christmas as A&E looked to be, he had enough of his own work to do.

And he had more than enough to think about. Some of his thoughts were quite well-worn by now, but nevertheless Severus returned to them while he stocked the potions cabinet behind the Healers' desk.

Two months had passed since he had met Lord Voldemort at Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, He-Who-Struck Terror-Into-The-Heart-Of-The-Wizarding-World had drunk brandy in front the fire with Severus. He had searched Severus's mind, tested Severus's power and pronounced himself impressed with what he had seen. And that had been the last Severus had heard from him.

Though Mother reported that Narcissa continued to call on her, Lucius had kept his distance and held his tongue since the interview in his library. Did that mean Voldemort had said nothing more to him about Severus? Wouldn't Lucius have passed on any message? It was disappointing in a way, an anticlimax.

And yet Severus was far from sure that he wanted to join the Death Eaters. Suppose Lucius--or Voldemort himself--came to him with the invitation? What on earth would he say? Did he want to join a band so many considered despicable? Did he want there to be yet another thing about him that he would have to hide from the rest of the world?

No, of course not. But would he be any happier if Voldemort, considering him less than worthy, passed him over? Severus had not forgotten the strangely heightened sensation he had felt around Voldemort, the combination of terror and allure, the chilling yet comforting certainty that Voldemort had looked into the depths of his heart and approved of what he'd found there. He missed that sensation. He wanted to feel it again.

A rumbling bang cut into Severus's ruminations: the sound of the ambulance doors opening at the end of the corridor. He turned and, looking through the doorway, saw the St Mungo's ambulance pop into view with a loud _crack!_

The St Mungo's ambulance was an old-fashioned lorry with bells on its sides, a vehicle which would have needed horses to draw it if it were not, like the Knight Bus, able to leapfrog through the magical ether to its destinations.

There the quaint resemblance between ambulance and Bus ended.

Severus stepped tensely around the Healers' desk as the doors at the back of the ambulance burst open and Crandall, Everett and a couple of other mediwizards piled out. Between them, they Levitated two stretchers carrying two identical men--identical twins, stocky and well-muscled, with heads full of thick, fiery-red hair. Their eyes were closed and their bodies were still. Under a liberal sprinkling of freckles, their faces were as grey as wasps' nests. All this was unpleasant enough, but to Severus no unfamiliar sight. What was new to him, what jolted his stomach so sickeningly, were the twins' oddly flaccid, horribly twisted limbs.

The mediwizards cast Carmenoris on the unconscious men and poured a sparkling silver potion down their throats, which Severus recognised as Ephedra Elixir. That meant the twins' hearts had stopped. They'd need more of the elixir; the ambulance didn't carry much. Severus returned to the A&E storage cabinet, took down a bottle and went back to the mediwizards.

At the same time, the commotion brought Barrows and Lily dashing from their patients' bays. Harding rushed up from the reception desk. His Auto-Writing Quill flew over a parchment hanging in the air beside him, taking down the information he elicited from the mediwizards.

"Prewett...duelling in the Charing Cross Road..._Five_ Death Eaters? A spot of inconvenience there for the Obliviators, I should think..."

Barrows moved in. She bent over the nearest of the unconscious wizards and, pointing her wand at his breastbone, attempted the Resuscitation Charm. Nothing happened.

Barrows paled. "Put them in Room One," she said curtly. "There's room for us to work on both of them there. Severus, have you got more Ephedra Elixir?" She had looked up as she'd said the last and finally noticed that no Healer was tending to the other twin.

Lily Potter was still there, however. She was staring at the injured wizards with a look of horror on her face. Her eyes were bright with what Severus was certain were unshed tears.

Barrows frowned. "Erm, Lily? I need some help here."

"Of--of course." Swallowing hard, Lily went to the other twin's side. Barrows looked at Harding.

"Right. I'll call Healer Sage." Harding waved his wand at his parchment and quill. They deposited themselves in his pocket and he hurried back to his desk.

Severus followed the Trainees and mediwizards as they Levitated their patients onto beds in Room One. He handed the bottle of Ephedra Elixir to Barrows. She poured measures of the potion into two cups, one of which she gave to Lily.

"Please, Gideon. Please," Lily whispered shakily as she poured elixir down her Prewett's throat.

Barrows gave her another anxious glance. But though Lily's eyes still glistened, no tears escaped them. Her hand was steady, and the Ephedra Elixir flowed smoothly from her cup into the still-insensible wizard's mouth.

Barrows returned to her work. Severus left the room to resume the stocking of Accident and Emergency's potions cabinet. If the Trainees needed more Ephedra Elixir, they would call him. But Severus doubted that the twin wizards, neither of whom had so much as fluttered an eyelid since their arrival, would ever again profit from the drinking of potions.

Sage Flooed in a few minutes later. He shrugged out of his fur-lined cloak and tossed it to Harding. Underneath the cloak he wore dress robes of ice-blue silk. Evidently Harding had called him away from a Christmas party. But Christmas cheer seemed to be the furthest thing from Sage's mind as he strode down the corridor toward Room One with his fine robes flapping around him.

---

The wizards were young, and they had once been strong. Sage did not give up on them easily. Before Severus was done with the stocking, he stuck his head out of Room One and called for Blood-Balancer Solution, a potion used to maintain the failing body during a prolonged resuscitation.

As soon as Severus entered the room and laid eyes on the twins, he knew the Healers were working on corpses.

The Healers knew it too. Sage's face was tight and his eyes were as cold and closed-in as Severus had ever seen them. Barrows was pale and unusually quiet. Lily was even paler, perfectly white. Her eyes were dry. Somehow she had banished the tears. If Sage had seen them, doubtless he would have been most displeased.

Barrows and Lily poured Blood-Balancer Solution into the slack mouths of the unconscious wizards and followed it with another dose of Ephedra Elixir. Nothing happened. The twins remained still, still and twisted, their faces as grey and their lips as blue as before.

"Enough," said Sage softly.

Barrows and Lily stopped at once, without question or hesitation. They must have been waiting for that half-whispered command, hoping that Sage would put an end to their hopeless efforts.

With a wave of his wand, Sage composed the bodies and covered them in white sheets.

Severus began to collect the remains of the potions, so that he could identify what and how much needed to be replaced. As he did so, he stole surreptitious glances at the still forms, anonymous-looking now under their spotless shrouds.

Five Death Eaters, Harding had said. Was this what Lord Voldemort required of his followers? Of course it was. Severus knew it. The whole world knew it.

Five Death Eaters. Severus wondered if he might know any of them. Perhaps Lucius had been there. Perhaps he had killed one of the wizards who now lay draped under white sheets.

Severus snatched up empty bottles of Ephedra Elixir. Good lord, they'd used twenty drams. He'd have to brew the department a fresh batch.

If he joined the Death Eaters, would Voldemort expect him to kill? Voldemort knew about the Hidden Hellebore. He had ordered Severus to cast Sectumsempra on Lucius Malfoy. Severus remembered what it had felt like. Would he be able to reproduce that feeling whenever Voldemort wanted him to? Would he be able to use it to fuel an intent to murder?

"What happened to these two wizards?" Sage said. "Who brought them in? And have their next-of-kin been notified?"

"They came in by ambulance, sir," said Barrows. "I didn't have time to speak to the mediwizards, but I saw Harding taking down their information."

Lily had called one of the dead wizards by name: Gideon. But she added nothing to what Barrows had said. She said nothing at all. Severus caught a glance of her staring desolately at the two shrouded corpses as, with his hands full of empty potions bottles, he left Room One.

---

Harding stood just outside of Room One, his back stolidly to the door. He was speaking to a couple of dishevelled men. One of them had a badly-scarred face, shoulder-length dark hair and keenly-darting, beady black eyes.

The other was James Potter.

"You can't go in," Harding said to the two men.

"Gideon and Fabian Prewett," the scarred man growled, talking past Harding. "We know they're here; don't try to tell us they're not. Where'd you put them?"

His robes and badge showed that the scarred man was an Auror. Remembering Scrimgeour, Severus made an extra attempt to avoid catching his eye. Sidling along the wall, he headed for the potions storage cabinet, so that he could finish the stocking and write up an order for fresh batches of Ephedra Elixir and Blood-Balancer Solution.

Severus evaded the Auror, but he couldn't keep himself from looking at Potter. Potter, fortunately, never spared him a glance. But why was he here? True, he'd got into the habit lately of fetching Lily at the end of the work day. Not that he had much else to do with himself, Severus thought. But Lily's shift, like Severus's, didn't end for hours.

Sage then emerged from Room One.

"Is there a problem? Ah, Chief Moody." When his eyes lit on the Auror, Sage looked as though he had found the answer to his question.

"Are they in there?" Moody demanded, almost belligerently. Sage regarded him questioningly.

"He's talking about the wizards Crandall and Everett brought in," said Harding. "Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

"Is that an official question?" Sage asked Moody. "Or were the Prewetts friends of yours?"

Moody's face went quite still. "'Were,' is it?"

"I'm afraid so," Sage said gently. "I'm very sorry."

Potter passed a hand over his eyes, so that when his wife came out of Room One, he did not see her at once.

_"James,"_ said Lily, sounding strangely breathless. _"You_ weren't--"

Moody looked at her sharply, and Potter jerked his head up. Lily closed her mouth, pressing her lips together. Then she strode between Sage and Moody into Potter's embrace.

Potter held her tightly, but he had no tender look or word for her. He stared at Room One's closed door. Lily, though dry-eyed and expressionless, looked like a child seeking comfort when she rested her cheek against Potter's chest and tucked her head beneath his chin.

"Perhaps you know what happened, then, Chief?" asked Sage.

"Pretty much," said Moody. "We heard it from witnesses. An attack in broad daylight, in the Charing Cross Road, not far from the Leaky Cauldron. Cheeky bastards! The Prewetts came out of the Cauldron--heard the racket, I reckon. Anyway, they distracted the Death Eaters so that people nearby in the street could get away. Distracted! Some distraction. It took five Death Eaters to bring them down." He paused, for the door to Room One had opened once again to admit Barrows into the corridor. She eyed Lily, who drew away from Potter with a faint blush.

But Severus, remembering Lily's strange conduct during the Prewetts' resuscitation, suspected that Barrows had more than inappropriate displays of affection on her mind.

"There were Killing Curses flying everywhere," Moody went on, looking at Sage, "but no one actually saw any of them hit the Prewetts."

"The Unparseable Curse," Sage remarked quietly.

"What's that?" said Moody.

"The Bone-cracker Curse broke nearly every bone in the Prewetts' arms and legs," said Sage. "But it did not kill them. Neither, as far as I can tell, did anything else, either natural or magical. Yet they _are_ dead, and most likely by a couple of those Killing Curses your witnesses saw. Avada Kedavra is the only curse which leaves no trace in the body of its victim. The Unparseable Unforgivable." Sage smiled thinly and briefly. "An old Healer's mnemonic."

"Oh. Yeah," said Moody rather distractedly.

"I doubt you've had a chance to contact any of the family," said Potter.

Sage looked quizzically at Potter, as if he found it odd to see him in Moody's company. "As a matter of fact, we haven't. I was hoping Chief Moody could give us a name. Or perhaps you know the family?"

"The Prewetts' sister and her husband are on their way," said Moody. "They know the boys were injured. They don't know they're dead."

"You'll allow me to take care of telling them?" Sage asked delicately. "Or would you prefer--?"

"You do it. You're a hell of a lot better at it than I am," Moody said shortly. "I sent an Auror to their place; they should be here any moment."

And, indeed, in the next moment, the Prewetts' next-of-kin arrived. Severus had started back to the potions storage cabinet, but he turned to watch them come in.

Like the Prewett twins, the husband and wife had bright, carrot-red hair. But there the resemblance between them ended. The man was tall and gangly, with spectacles that kept sliding down his long nose. His wife, the dead wizards' sister, was short, with a round and pretty, apple-cheeked face. She was also quite noticeably pregnant: more than halfway there, Severus reckoned, though he couldn't have called himself an expert on the subject.

An Auror accompanied the couple. With a mild start, Severus recognised Dawlish, the Auror whom he had healed of the Sectumsempra Curse a few months before.

Dawlish hung back as the sister and her husband drew closer to the little knot of people in front of Room One. The Prewetts' kin didn't notice him. Sage and Harding were exchanging inaudible words, but the Prewetts' kin didn't notice that, either.

They'd stopped dead. The husband was looking at the floor. The sister, leaning on his arm, handkerchief crumpled in her hand, stared in mute accusation at Moody and Potter.

Potter said something to her, so quietly that Severus couldn't make it out. Then Sage came forward.

"Mr and Mrs Weasley? You've met Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror Office?"

"We've met," said Moody. His eyes were fixed on Mrs Weasley's face. "Molly, I--"

Molly Weasley turned her back on him. Suddenly it all fell into place.

Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley, of the Prewetts and Weasleys whom the pure-bloods of Slytherin House had derided as blood traitors in the privacy of the Slytherin common room. Naturally they would be friends with that other pack of blood traitors, the Potters. That was why James Potter had a look of shock on his face as he stared at Molly Weasley's repudiatingly straight back.

His calm unruffled, Sage said, "I need to speak to you about your brothers, Mrs Weasley. My office would be best, I think, if I might ask you and your husband to step this way--?"

"No," said Molly. "You don't have to tell me anything. I know _exactly_ what happened..." Her voice broke apart into sobs, and she buried her face in her handkerchief.

Weasley touched his wife's shaking shoulder. "Molly." His voice cracked.

"Perhaps you would like to come in and see them, then," said Sage quietly.

Molly lifted her head. She stared at the door behind Sage. "Yes," she said steadily, her face shining with tears. "I would like to see them."

Lily Potter, who had been silent up to this point, started toward Molly Weasley. Potter grasped her arm and muttered something to her.

Lily pulled away. "It's my _job_, James," she said.

Potter stared at her, looking startled. Then he nodded.

Lily went to Molly Weasley's side and took her hand. Molly looked at her: blue eyes held green for a long moment. Then Sage opened the door to Room One, and he, Lily and the Weasleys went inside.

Potter watched them go. As if the door itself were a grisly sight, he averted his eyes when it closed behind them.

"Come on, Potter," growled Moody. "We've got work to do, but not in this place." He sighed. "We're no damned good here."

He and Potter left through the emergency entrance, by the same door which had admitted the bodies of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. But what work did they have to do together? Hadn't Potter left the Auror training programme months before?

Severus wondered, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He still held the empty and half-empty bottles he had retrieved from Room One, and behind the Healers' desk the potions cabinet still needed restocking. He headed for it once again, and this time nothing interrupted the resumption of his work.

---

Severus had turned to put a pot of burn-healing paste on the top shelf of a corner cupboard behind the Healers' desk. That was how he happened to catch sight of Lily coming out of Room One.

Though he didn't mean to, Severus stared openly at her. She didn't notice. Though her eyes were wide open, she clearly saw nothing--at least, nothing of the department around her. Her face was even whiter than it had been when Severus had seen her working on Gideon Prewett. And her hands, he saw as she walked slowly past the desk, were twined over her belly in a white-knuckled knot.

Severus had never seen anyone who worked regularly in Accident and Emergency look so frightened.

He wasn't afraid she had seen him. Her eyes did not even flicker in his direction as she neared the Healers' desk. Even so, Severus turned away quickly and went back to work.

---

After that, the entire department remained quiet. Barrows went on to the next patient, and while Severus finished up the stocking, he saw no one else come out of Room One.

To be sure, he kept his back resolutely turned on the closed door, behind which the broken bodies of the Prewetts lay beneath their shrouds. Nevertheless, he was sure the Weasleys were still there when he pushed his trolley out from behind the Healers' desk. Some hubbub would certainly have accompanied their emergence from Room One.

Healer Sage had got out of the room without Severus's noticing it, however. Sage was at Harding's desk with the sleeves of his silk robes rolled above his elbows and the rosy glow of Harding's everlasting Christmas candles on his calm, lined face, signing the Prewetts' death certificates as Severus went by.

---

As far as hustle and bustle were concerned, the hospital cafeteria was a shadow of its former self. With skeleton crews staffing the departments at Christmas, very few people actually had the time to leave their floors for dinner.

Severus was determined to take the time, however, since he knew he'd have to put in a couple of extra hours that evening to finish up the brewings.

Chicken drumsticks, mashed potatoes and Brussels sprouts were the bland order of the day, but Severus didn't mind. He was so hungry, he would have eaten sawdust. He had thought that what he had seen in Accident and Emergency would take away his appetite for the rest of the day, but he had been wrong. As soon as he had stepped on the Rising Ramp which lifted him to Potions and Physics, his stomach had begun to growl.

Thus Severus, bent over his plate, was so intent on his food that he didn't notice Lily Potter until she put her meal tray on his table and sat down.

Severus looked up. Then he looked around the cafeteria. He saw no Healers except for a couple of Trainees from Creature-Induced Injuries, a man and a woman who had been an item for some time and who, sitting together and gazing into each other's eyes, clearly desired no other company.

"Mind if I sit down?" said Lily.

She was a little late in asking his permission, but Severus merely shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He had returned to his dinner and was cutting meat off a drumstick when she said quietly, "It was horrible, wasn't it?"

Again Severus looked up. "I suppose you're talking about the Prewetts?"

Lily nodded.

"They were dead by the time they arrived in A&E," Severus said. "There was nothing anyone could do."

Lily flared up. "How would you know? You're no Healer!"

"You are, or will be soon enough," Severus retorted coldly. "So how would you _not_ know?"

Lily looked away for a moment, then back. "Sorry," she muttered. "It's just that--well, that Bone-cracker Curse. That has to be the worst torture, to have some wizard casting a curse at you that breaks your bones, one by one."

"I imagine it is," said Severus. Why was she telling him this? If she wanted to pour out her feelings to someone, why didn't she wait until Potter fetched her home?

"The one who used the Bone-cracker Curse was laughing," said Lily.

"What?"

"That Death Eater who broke Gideon's and Fabian's bones laughed while he did it."

"How do you know?" said Severus.

"Crandall overheard one of the Muggle witnesses telling an Auror just before the Auror Obliviated him." Lily sighed. "Sometimes I think it wouldn't be so bad to be a Muggle, you know? Then they wouldn't just let you forget. They'd _make_ you forget."

Did you have to be able to laugh while you were casting the Bone-cracker Curse before they let you join the Death Eaters? Or did you just get that way after you'd been with them for a while?

_"Severus has given me much to think about,"_ Voldemort had said. Did he think he could turn Severus into one of the laughers?

"I didn't think the resuscitation went so badly," Severus said, for he could tell Lily needed reassurance.

"Except that, like you said, the patients were dead before we even started."

"What did Sage have to say about it?" asked Severus.

"He said I shouldn't have been taking care of people I knew."

"But what were you supposed to do? Barrows needed your help."

"He said none of us should do it," Lily went on, "but that maybe we'd better learn how, anyway. That the way things are going, we'll all soon be seeing people we know coming into Accident and Emergency as the victims of Death Eaters."

"I see he doesn't have much confidence in the Ministry's ability to protect us."

"Do you?" Lily asked acutely.

"You should know the answer to that."

Lily didn't immediately reply. She ran her hand through her hair in a gesture very like her husband's. "The answer to that is, somehow, we've got to stop them. We've got to fight them and carry on fighting them until we stop them."

"That's the Ministry's line. Couldn't you be a bit more original? Why, for instance, does no one suggest negotiating with the Death Eaters?"

"Negotiate with--! You don't get it, do you? It's not even the Death Eaters we're really fighting!"

"Not fighting the Death Eaters? Who do you think killed your friends?" Severus looked at her narrowly. "Because you didn't just happen to be acquainted with the Prewetts, did you? You and Potter were their friends."

Lily shrugged. "I suppose that was fairly obvious."

"Well, yes, you two do tend to wear your hearts on your sleeves."

"It doesn't interfere with my thinking ability," Lily said with some asperity. "What's your excuse?"

"My excuse? For what?"

"For not being able to work out that, if you _were_ to negotiate, it wouldn't be with the Death Eaters. They're nothing more than the spell-fodder Voldemort throws at the Aurors to keep them off his arse while he goes after what he really wants."

Severus didn't wince. But he also didn't speak the Dark Lord's name. "And what does You-Know-Who really want?"

"The power to seek immortality without being pestered by any little gnats who might object to the way he seeks it."

"Bah. You've read too many crackpot letters to the editor in the _Daily Prophet._" She certainly couldn't have heard it from Lucius Malfoy. As Severus had.

"This time, the crackpots are right," said Lily. "Not to panic the way they do. But they're right to be afraid." She fell silent, and her eyes turned dark and distant. "I hate being afraid. I just _hate _it. Why did Voldemort have to come _now_, of all times? Isn't there enough to be afraid of when you're going to have a baby? Do we really need Voldemort too?"

_Going to have a baby..._ Severus stared at her.

"What's the matter--oh!" The light back in her eyes, Lily smiled sheepishly. "Well, why shouldn't you know? Everybody else does. Erm, yes. James and I are expecting."

Potter had not only persuaded her to marry him. He'd talked her into having his child.

Well, _talked_ possibly wasn't the right word...

"So now do you get it?" said Lily. "I don't want to live in a world ruled by a wizard who wants nothing for all eternity but his own great, dark, bloated self. I don't want my child born into a world like that. But right now that's the world we're living in, because Voldemort's that great, dark, bloated wizard and he's ruling the rest of us through fear."

Severus couldn't take his eyes off Lily's flushed and suddenly animated face. He was remembering something weirdly similar which Potter had said, on one of those leaden days they'd spent together in Azkaban:

_"I want to fight the outlaws, the criminals, the Dark...I don't want to part of one gang, led by one charismatic wizard, making hits on another gang, led by another charismatic wizard, may the bloke with the biggest wand win. I don't want to live like that." _

Severus hadn't understood all of it, just as he didn't quite understand the bellicose attitude of this pregnant woman who, in his opinion, ought to have had more of a mind to protect herself, to wall herself in.

"Voldemort's done enough," said Lily, "he's had things his way long enough. We have to fight him, we have to get rid of him before our children are old enough to suffer the way we've suffered. You understand; of course you do! Molly does too, or she will, anyway." Her voice faded a bit, making her sound as though she hadn't quite convinced herself.

Severus was still gazing at her, but he didn't really see her. He saw Voldemort instead, with his blood-streaked eyes and his misshapen face. He saw Lucius submitting to Sectumsempra at his lord's command; he saw Ruskin in Azkaban, keeping his lord's secrets under the threat of dementors and death. He heard Lily inside his head: _"That_ _Death Eater who broke Gideon's and Fabian's bones laughed..."_

_You can't fight him,_ Severus wanted to tell her. _Give up now, before he notices you. Before he decides to swat the gnat._

He looked at her, unable to say it. But why should he have to? Lily Potter was no Auror. She didn't fight Lord Voldemort. Why should Voldemort notice her, wish to obliterate her?

So Severus said nothing, and suddenly Lily looked embarrassed. "I've gone on, haven't I? As if you didn't have enough problems of your own."

Indeed. But Severus merely shrugged.

"Thanks for listening, anyway--oh, no, will you look at the time! I've got to get back to A&E, or Sophia Barrows will have my head!" Lily leapt up, grabbed her tray and rushed to hand it to the house-elf who stood by the scullery door.

Severus did not move until Lily had left the cafeteria. Then he looked over his shoulder at the clock. It said seven-fifteen: he too was late in returning to work. But he did not hurry as he carried his tray to the house-elf, for there was no one waiting for him in the Potions and Physics Department.

---

It was nine-fifteen before Severus was finished with the brewings and on his way home through a gentle snowfall. He had forgotten to call Mother to tell her he would be late, but these days, if she was lonely, she could always call Narcissa Malfoy.

Arriving in Linden Lane, Severus let himself into his house. It was as dark inside as out. Mother must have already gone to bed, he thought, so he walked quietly up the stairs, lighting his way with the dimmest of wandlight. But when he reached the top step, he heard noise coming from Mother's bedroom: the scraping of drawers and the opening and closing of her wardrobe.

"Mother?" said Severus.

A drawer slammed shut. Then there was silence.

Severus entered his mother's bedroom. There, by the light of a single candle guttering in a sconce on the wall, he saw her wadding clothes into a suitcase open on her bed.

"Mother?" said Severus. "What are you doing?"

"I'm packing, and you'd better too." Her voice was thick with tears. "We're leaving."

"We're leaving? Why?"

Mother went to her dresser, picked up a parchment and thrust it into Severus's hands.

_29 Dec. 1979_

_Dear Mrs and Mr Snape,_

_The disturbance earlier this evening caused by your Muggle relation, Mr Tobias Snape, has unfortunately brought to my attention the fact that you have again failed to uphold the terms of your lease._

_You will recall that the last time Mr Tobias Snape engaged in drunken and near-violent altercations in Linden Lane and inside your house, I was forced to give you a final reminder of your responsibility, in accordance with Subsection 10 (b) of your lease, to assist in protecting Linden Lane and the properties within it from unauthorised Muggle intrusion._

_You cannot be unaware that the Muggle-Repelling Enchantments which you have repeatedly sabotaged were cast in compliance with the legal requirement that all magical locations be concealed from general Muggle notice. I regret to say, therefore, that I must ask you to immediately vacate the premises of Number Three, Linden Lane._

_Wishing you the best of the holiday season,_

_Mrs Rose Watkins_

Severus stared at the letter. His hands began to shake, and the parchment trembled. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Your father was here. Out in the street, shouting. He was drunk. I got him into the house as fast as I could--"

Severus cut the air with a gesture. He didn't need to hear more. Closing his eyes, he asked, "How did he get here?"

There was a moment's silence, then Severus heard moaning, muffled sobs. It sounded as though Mother was weeping into her handkerchief, just as Molly Weasley had done. "I don't know how he got in," she cried. "I didn't let him in; it's not true, I didn't!"

"Stop!" cried Severus. He opened his eyes. Stricken silent, Mother returned him a wide, watery stare.

"I--I'm sorry," Severus said through clenched teeth. He unclenched them. "But don't you see? Tobias was Obliviated the last time he was here. So someone had to tell him where to go and someone had to let him in. Someone who knows the location of Linden Lane and knows how to release Mrs Watkins's Muggle-Repelling Enchantments. In other words, someone who lives here."

Mother dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, then folded it neatly and put it into her pocket. "I have no idea how Tobias found Linden Lane," she said, rather shakily, but quietly. "I don't know how he got past the enchantments. Until today, I had neither seen nor heard of him in three months, since the last time he was here."

"And yet you let him into the house," said Severus. "You opened the door to him."

"What was I supposed to do, leave him to carry on bellowing in the street?"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Why, I--I couldn't, you were busy, look how late you were tonight, I couldn't bother you--"

_"Why didn't you call me?"_

"He wouldn't let me."

_You're a witch. You could have made him let you._ Those were, logically, the next words to be said. But Severus didn't say them. He stared at Mother's suitcase. When he had first come in, he had seen her stuffing her clothing into it by hand.

"Where's your wand, Mother?" he asked.

She pulled her wand from her pocket and held it before her eyes for a moment. She bowed her head, and after a short silence the dull keening of her words came out from behind the veil of hair which hid her face: "Why won't he love me?" Then suddenly Mother threw her head back. Her hair fell away, revealing her features twisted in agony. "And if he won't love me, if I'm too ugly, too freakish for him to love me," and here her voice rose to a shriek, _"then why won't he leave me alone!"_

Severus held up Mrs Watkins's letter, cowering behind it from the barrage of his mother's emotion. Yet even as he did so, he saw that her crashing flood of feeling caused not a single spark to erupt from her wand.

"Yes," said Mother. Her voice was quiet again, so that Severus heard the clattering of her wand when she dropped it to the floor. Lowering the parchment, he saw that her face was still. "That's why I couldn't make him let me call you."

And that was why she hadn't lent her magic to the maintenance of Mrs Watkins's Muggle-Repelling Enchantments. She hadn't any magic to lend.

Severus crumpled up Mrs Watkins's letter and flung it aside. What would he and Mother do now? Where would they go? They couldn't leave London. He had to work. He couldn't even hope for a few days off until after the New Year; this was the busiest and shortest-staffed time of year at St Mungo's. They'd have to stay at an inn or rent a couple of rooms until they found a new place. How was he to afford it? And he'd better hope that Mrs Watkins didn't delay returning his security deposit, or he wouldn't have the money for a deposit on a flat.

It would have to be a flat this time, for his savings had dwindled to the point where he couldn't afford to rent another house.

He could beg, he supposed. If Lucius was truly his friend and Narcissa Mother's, Severus could beg for their room and board at Malfoy Manor until he could find them another place to live.

It was a bitter thought. Severus shuddered with helpless rage at Tobias Snape. And Mother--_why_ was she still obsessed with that Muggle bastard after all these years? Why did she still indulge herself with the dream of a love that, if it had ever existed, was long gone?

"Severus?" said Mother. "What are we going to do?"

It always fell to him to solve their problems, to dig them out from under the wreckage. "Do? We'll beg. That's what we'll do."

Severus went downstairs and threw a fistful of Floo powder into the hearth. When he called for Malfoy Manor, Narcissa answered: her head appeared in the grate, crowned with a plait of white-gold hair. Having no wish to prolong the pain, Severus hardly greeted her before telling his story as quickly as he could.

Thank God, Narcissa didn't wait for him to ask if he and Mother could stay at Malfoy Manor. Thank God, he didn't have to beg.

"Oh, Severus, how horrible! You and Eileen must come to the Manor at once and stay with us for as long as you like! You can Floo straight in to work: Lucius's father has arranged for a direct connection to St Mungo's. And I would love to have Eileen to keep me company; we've become such friends!"

"Narcissa--" Severus began.

"I refuse to hear any objections! I am not listening to them! I will not deprive myself of the pleasure of having you and Eileen as my guests!"

For a moment, Severus was struck speechless. He had never seen Narcissa so effusive. Mother seemed to have had quite an effect on her--at any rate, Severus was sure that he had done nothing to inspire such enthusiasm.

"Thank you," he said finally. "I'm grateful."

"Think nothing of it. The pleasure is all ours. When can we expect you?"

"When can we come?"

"At once!" declared Narcissa. "I'll wake Lucius and tell him you're on your way."

Vastly relieved at how easy it had been, Severus thanked her, ended the call and went up to his mother.

Though Mother also seemed relieved at the news, she looked less than overjoyed. Perhaps she was feeling the shame at begging which Severus had determinedly put away from himself.

He didn't ask Mother about it. He gladly avoided thinking about it at all. He magically completed his and Mother's packing. He wrote a note to Mrs Watkins, leaving his forwarding address (let her worry about the friends he had in high places!) and telling her that, later in the week, he would send a removal company for the rest of their belongings.

Then Severus and his mother went out into the snowy night and caught the Knight Bus for Malfoy Manor.


	14. Chapter 14

THE POTIONS PROJECT

Spring, 1976

By booting Severus out of Remus Lupin's study group, Potter and Black did exactly the opposite of making Severus lose interest in Remus Lupin.

They shouldn't have applied the overkill. They shouldn't have cornered Severus in a corridor and threatened to hex him, demanding to know _why_ he wanted to know what was wrong with Lupin's mother.

Why shouldn't he want to know? Didn't Potter realise that Severus wasn't the only one who wondered what ailed Mrs Lupin? Hadn't he overheard the other students talking about it, murmuring baffled and uneasy questions to one another?

Severus had. And he was convinced that if Potter ever wanted to claim he hadn't, he'd be telling a lie.

Potter and Black's overreaction to Severus's curiosity had only piqued it further. Since their confrontation at the end of December, Severus had made it his business to learn all he could about Remus Lupin's disappearances.

He started with the assumption that nothing Lupin had told him was true. Why not, when Lupin and his friends did all they could to prevent anyone from verifying their story? Thus, as of that moment--early Thursday evening on the twenty-fifth of March--Severus could not have said where Lupin went when he left the school. As far as he knew, no one had ever seen Lupin at the Hogsmeade station around the time of his absences, getting on or off the Hogwarts Express.

What Severus did know were the dates of Lupin's absences since the beginning of the spring term. Lupin had been gone on the eighteenth and nineteenth of January, the sixteenth and seventeenth of February and the seventeenth and eighteenth of March. Each pair of dates followed the pair before by approximately one month.

Did the span of time between each pair of dates only approximate one month? Or was it exactly one month? It depended on whether you used the Gregorian or the lunar calendar.

If he counted the time before Christmas, Severus had been pondering the conundrum of Remus Lupin for six months. Now, sitting on his bed in the dormitory, on Thursday evening, the twenty-fifth of March, the question of the timing of Remus Lupin's absences sent Severus to the appendices of his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.

It was a used book, so the lunar calendars in the back, spanning three years, were out-of-date. But as all the schoolbooks Mother had bought Severus were used, she had taught him long ago how to deal with problems like outdated calendars. A wave of his wand over the lunar calendar for 1954-55 updated it to 1975-76. The numbers shimmered and changed. The tiny pictures of the phases of the moon skittered over the page.

Severus was not at all surprised to see where the pictures of the full moons landed in the lunar calendar for 1975-76. He eyed the smiling faces of the men in the moons with grim satisfaction. The January full moon perched in the square belonging to the seventeenth of that month. In the month of February, the full moon's face beamed cheerfully over the number fifteen. In March, the full moon stopped on the date of the sixteenth.

Severus looked before January, into 1975. He found his suspicions supported. The full moon fell on 18 December--and hadn't Lupin been absent the week before Christmas? That November day in Potions, when Severus had helped Lily Evans brew a perfect Draught of Living Death--hadn't that also been around the eighteenth?

Lupin hadn't attended that class. And on the calendar for 1975, a full moon smiled up at Severus above the date of 18 November.

Severus snapped his book shut and leaned back against the bed cushions. It was all too abundantly clear. The disease that Remus Lupin's mother suffered from was lycanthropy.

He wondered that he hadn't worked it out before this. Or was it so very wonderful? How many people went to school with someone whose mother was a werewolf?

Whether it should have been before or not, it was painfully obvious now. Lupin's entire family were at odds with the law. Lupin's father, his mother, Lupin himself--they were all conspiring to hide Mrs Lupin's condition from the authorities.

The Werewolf Registry couldn't have Mrs Lupin in their records, or they would have reported on her to Dumbledore and the Governors of Hogwarts. Severus couldn't speak for the Governors. But he would have bet money that Albus Dumbledore didn't know Lupin's mother was a werewolf.

It wasn't that Dumbledore would have minded having the son of a werewolf at Hogwarts. Severus could easily imagine the headmaster's delight in manoeuvring the Board of Governors to accept another one of his pet outcasts. But neither Dumbledore nor the teachers would want a pupil to miss several days of class each month to tend a mother whose illness posed no real danger to her life. And that was leaving aside the risk that Lupin's mother might infect him while he cared for her. No, Severus thought. Not even Dumbledore could fancy a werewolf loose in the halls of Hogwarts.

So neither the Ministry nor the Hogwarts authorities knew that Remus Lupin's mother was a werewolf. But Severus was willing to lay another wager on who did know.

Peter Pettigrew. Sirius Black. And James Potter.

At some point, they had discovered Lupin's secret and instead of turning him over to Dumbledore had decided to join in the deception. It was just the sort of thing Potter and Black would consider fun. Never mind that the concealment of a werewolf was a crime. Why, that only made it more exciting.

The more Severus thought about it, the more he was convinced. Their awful shared secret explained why the four Gryffindors were such a tight band. It explained why they treated every question, every approach as an attack and responded accordingly. It even gave Potter and Black a reason (beyond overbearing arrogance and a love of showing off) for hexing everyone in sight. Nobody would give Lupin much trouble if they were afraid of the thugs surrounding him.

It all fit--especially when Severus thought of Lupin's terror and the belligerence of his friends whenever the subject of Mrs Lupin's illness came up.

What to do about it, then? Should he go to Professor Slughorn? Should he try to get in to see the headmaster? With what? Three sets of dates from the back of his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook?

No, that surely wasn't enough. Severus could see Slughorn and Dumbledore dismissing the dates as coincidences. They'd dismiss Severus's discovery and, looking upon him as an embittered tattletale who _wasn't_ in the Slug Club like Potter, who _wasn't_ a prefect like Lupin, they'd dismiss him.

Severus did not intend to be dismissed. If and when he went to the teachers, it would be with enough evidence to make dismissal impossible.

And so, putting aside his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook for the time being, Severus sought his evidence in the only way he knew how: by eavesdropping on Potter and his gang. He tried it physically, by creeping up on them while they were whispering together. He never heard anything important and got nothing for his pains but a series of hexes, each more uncomfortable and embarrassing than the last. He tried eavesdropping on them magically, using a spell called Exauditur. He'd seen it in a book with thick, bristly hair growing out of its spine, which Ruskin had shown to him.

"I picked it up in Knockturn Alley, at Black Books," Ruskin had said, stroking the book's fur. "The shop owner told me you're supposed to give it a haircut every three weeks."

Severus hoped Ruskin hadn't paid much for the book, for the spell he'd got out of it had done him no good whatsoever. Hiding behind a pillar in one of the school hallways, he'd cast Exauditur at Potter's gang as they'd huddled together, talking in whispers. But Potter had sensed the spell coming, deflected it and jinxed Severus with something that had made his ears grow as huge and bulbously warty as cauliflowers and turned them as red as beetroots.

"Why do you bother with it?" Ruskin asked Severus one April evening, after he and Lestrange had pulled chairs up to the table where Severus was doing his homework. That morning, Ruskin, Lestrange, Mulciber and Rosier had narrowly saved Severus from a rain of hexes Potter's gang had poured on him when they'd caught him hiding behind a tree near the lake, trying to listen to their conversation. "You even got Lupin stirred up. But what do you expect from a bloke when you're always on about his mother?"

Severus set his quill in the inkwell. "Do _you_ know what's wrong with her?" he asked.

"No, and I don't care. Why should I?" said Ruskin. "It's nothing deep, dark and dastardly, or why would the teachers let Lupin go home whenever he's called? Can't blame you for wanting to get Potter and his friends into trouble," he added, grinning, "but that's not going to do it, I'm afraid."

"It'll get _you_ into trouble, more like," said Lestrange. "And that will bring trouble to the rest of us."

"Oh, stop it, Rabby," said Ruskin. "You're being paranoid again."

"Am I?" said Lestrange. "Weren't you paying attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts yesterday? When Bones was giving another one of her lectures about the Death Eaters, with her eye on the Slytherin corner of the room?"

Ruskin laughed. "We are Salazar Slytherin's own!" he said, his voice rumbling theatrically. "The exile's children, the House of Dark Wizards!"

Lestrange looked distinctly unamused. "Exactly. And if you ask me, they're more suspicious of us than ever."

"What does it matter?" Ruskin said carelessly. "You and I will be out of here in a few months, and gainfully employed to boot. I went to the interview last weekend that Slughorn set up for me with Martin Davies in Magical Games and Sports. Davies didn't care what house I was in."

"Well, that's _you,"_ said Lestrange.

"Why not you too, Rabastan? I thought you were going to work in your father's firm?"

Ruskin, Lestrange and Severus all turned at the sound of Regulus Black's voice. He had approached the table without a sound.

"So why should it matter what house you're in?" asked Regulus.

"Tell that to the Ministry!" snapped Rabastan. "Tell that to the Aurors who came round to Dad's office, asking Rodolphus who he met at the party he and Bella went to last week. As if he could remember them all! There were over fifty people there! It's because Rodolphus was a Slytherin. Our whole family were Slytherin. That's the same as being a Dark wizard to _them._ No use trying to deny it."

"Sometimes being a Slytherin is a hindrance," Regulus said. "And sometimes it can be a help."

"He's right, you know," said Ruskin. "When I was in London, I heard about more than the duties of a junior minister on the Quaffle Regulatory Board. The times are changing. Just be patient, Rabby. You'll see."

"So you've said," said Lestrange. "I'm still waiting."

The others didn't reply. Just then, a third-year walked into the common room. Ruskin, Lestrange and Black turned to look at him.

The third-year stopped short. There was no one else in the room and no one closer to his year than the fifth-year Regulus Black. "Erm...I came to do my homework?" Diffidently, he held up a textbook. "Transfiguration. You know how McGonagall gets if you're late handing it in."

Ruskin smiled genially and his blue eyes twinkled. He looked like Dumbledore at his best.

"No problem, Bletchley," he said. "We'll get out of your way. Or I will, anyway. I'm exhausted, so I'm turning in."

But Ruskin had said "we," and Lestrange, Regulus and Severus took the hint: their conversation was over for the night. Severus followed Ruskin and the others through the door by which the third-year had entered and followed the winding corridor to his dormitory and his bed.

---

Ruskin's dissuasion did not keep Severus off Lupin's trail for long. The reason for this was that, although Ruskin had discouraged Severus from his course in the privacy of the Slytherin common room, he never failed to come to Severus's defence against Potter, no matter what the reason for Potter's attack. And since, as undisputed leader of Slytherin House, he always had a band of boys at his beck and call, Potter got the worst of it as often as not.

It was worth it just to see the frustration of all of them--Potter, Black, Pettigrew and Lupin--as they realised there was nothing they could do to distract Severus from the hunt.

That didn't stop them trying. They continued to inflict humiliation and injury on Severus whenever they could. But they couldn't as much as they wanted to, thanks to Ruskin. And when they could, Severus found it didn't anger him as much--or, at least, it didn't goad him into a blind rage. He had a purpose now in enduring it. If he was right about Lupin's mother and could prove it, what Potter, Black and the others could do to him was nothing compared to what he would be able to do to them.

Potter had one way of stopping Severus. _Temporarily_, Severus told himself. But whenever Lily Evans was around--and, because Potter had not given up his pursuit of her, she was often around--Severus's own pursuit of Lupin's secret was stopped in its tracks.

It wasn't entirely true that Potter could no longer drive Severus into a blind rage. He could not have borne Potter humiliating him in front of Lily Evans as he had done by the lake the year before.

But nearly a year had passed since then, so there was more to it than that. As winter unfolded into the bright, long days of spring, Severus became less and less willing to deny to himself that Lily liked him again. He found also that he did not want to disabuse her of the notion she still had, that he had been trying to help Lupin catch up with his studies over the Christmas holiday. Perhaps that was understandable, for Lily liked Lupin. But even though she disliked Potter, Severus did not want her to have the slightest inkling that he was trying to get Potter into the kind of trouble that might get the latter expelled.

Of course, Severus didn't want anyone he didn't trust finding that out, but with Lily it was different. He knew she wouldn't understand. Even if Lily'd had enemies, which she didn't, she wasn't the kind of person who would try to get them thrown out of school.

They might be friends: as the term wore on, Severus slowly allowed himself to hope so. Best friends? He forbade himself _that_ hope. But she was herself around him again. She treated him with the ease he remembered from the playground, the shady river bank, the cosy sitting-room of the Evans house.

How quickly he relaxed into the old ways, as if nothing had ever come between them. As if he had never called her Mudblood, never waited vainly before the Fat Lady's portrait for her to come to him, to speak to him, to forgive him. She had come, true; she had spoken, but she had not forgiven.

_"It's too late.... You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."_

But that was then. Nearly a year had passed. Winter was a memory. The earth spun toward spring, the days were bright and long again, and again Lily Evans treated Severus like a friend. Did that mean she had finally forgiven him? He did not dare to ask her that.

But he looked forward now to Potions for more than the subject matter. Not only was it a pleasure to work with Lily--Slughorn was right, Severus had to admit, to call her a "dab hand at Potions"--it was a pleasure to be with her, to talk with her, to laugh.

Yes, to laugh. It reminded him of the old days, before the lake, before the cold corridor outside Gryffindor Tower, to laugh in Potions with Lily. It couldn't be the same, Severus kept trying to tell himself, even though it sounded the same when, with Lily, he laughed. It sounded exactly the same.

He laughed at her, for she invited it with the many times she laughed at herself. He laughed with her, over things like the absurd accidents that happened in Potions all the time--the sorts of accidents that used to anger him, because they meant he wouldn't be among the first to finish his potion. Sometimes he even laughed at himself, which he could never do without Lily at his side, laughing with him.

"See, Severus?" she said after one of the Potions accidents. "It doesn't hurt to have a laugh once in a while."

She then scooped a handful of blue goo from the front of his robe, the upshot of the explosion of their Fire Protection Potion, formed it into a ball with a flick of her wand and bounced the ball on the floor beside their desk. Severus dissolved again into spluttering laughter, loud enough this time to draw Slughorn's attention.

Slughorn stared at Severus through several moments of astonished silence before he could collect himself enough to deliver a reproof.

To laugh together as they'd used to do, to have fun as before--could it mean that Severus and Lily might be friends?

_"I thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends?"_

He would never say that again. After the cold corridor, after watching Lily turn her back on him and disappear through the portrait hole, it would sound too much like begging. Severus refused to beg.

_"Best friends?"_

If Lily wanted that, let her ask for it. Let her say the words.

Severus wouldn't hold out for it. He knew Lily didn't need his friendship. She had always had many friends besides him at Hogwarts. This year was no different. He had seen Lily come in to Defence Against the Dark Arts whispering and giggling with Alice Aylsworth and Mary Macdonald. He'd seen her laughing with Sloper, Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in the hallway outside of the Charms classroom. He'd even seen her laughing with Potter--spluttering, as if, like Severus in Potions, she had tried but failed to hold back her laugh.

Potter had taken it as encouragement, of course, and had immediately asked Lily out. She'd said no.

That in itself was a delight, to watch Lily Evans thwart James Potter, when so little in Potter's life had ever thwarted him before. She did see through Potter, even if no one else in the school did, through the glittering, Quidditch-hero veneer to Potter's spoiled-rotten core. She'd see through Severus too, through the hexed loser spewing soap bubbles and filthy names to--to--

_To what I really am, _thought Severus. _To my true self. Like she's always done._

As he had seen through her, from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her at the playground. He had known she was a witch and that she would never let that shrill Muggle sister of hers hold her back.

So they could work together, and Severus could call it cooperation if he liked, as if they were friends, instead of mutual use, as if they were only each other's tools. Together he and Lily cleaned up the mess they had made with the Fire Protection Potion; together they worked out a speedier recipe than Borage's and still finished their potion ahead of Potter and Black.

They'd earned full marks for it too. "No professional potioner could have made a better save," Slughorn had said, beaming.

For once the earning of those marks hadn't been a scrabbling competition for Severus, a duel with the other students, the teacher and himself. He had relaxed. He'd had fun. He'd laughed.

It couldn't have happened with anybody other than Lily. But he couldn't assume they were friends. So he didn't presume to sit by Lily in their other N.E.W.T.s lessons or share anything in particular with her outside of Potions. He watched her sometimes, though, moving her wand through a set of spell-figures as she learned a new charm, her hand as quick and graceful as a bird in flight. He watched her strange eyes fixed on the various professors as they lectured: almond-shaped eyes, as green as emeralds or basilisk's skin. He saw the curve of her back as she bent over her books, watched her hair streaming over that curve like a river of red fire, sparking gold where the light touched it.

Severus saw all this and looked away, because he and Lily Evans weren't friends.

---

And yet, on the first Monday in May, when Professor Slughorn called upon the class to divide into pairs and Lily slid into the seat next to him, Severus felt that peculiar lightness in his chest which meant that he was happy.

"Very good, then!" Slughorn beamed. "I hope you've all chosen well, for you'll be with your partner for the rest of the term, and he or she will be the one who helps you determine your final mark!"

At that, a few of the students, looking sheepishly around, traded the boy they wanted to impress or the girl they thought was pretty for, presumably, more reliable partners. Lily smiled at Severus. He had no doubt that she was thinking what he was thinking: _We've got it made, then. We've had top marks all year._

As Slughorn turned to the blackboard and Lily opened her notebook, Severus looked around at Potter and his friends. They had not divided into their usual pairs. Instead of Black, Potter had taken Lupin for his partner. Black had paired up with Pettigrew.

His round back to the class, Slughorn wrote Potions categories on the blackboard: Physics, Poisons and Antidotes, Transfigurants and Mind, Mood and Magic Alterants. Then he turned and spoke. "The times being what they are, the headmaster is encouraging all the teachers to cultivate more in the way of independent thinking in our pupils. I couldn't agree more with his aims and am delighted to offer you the opportunity to stretch yourselves a bit with an independent Potions project."

Though Lily looked interested, Severus could tell by the apprehensive murmuring rippling through the rest of the classroom that few of the other students shared Slughorn's delight.

"Come, where are your sporting instincts?" Slughorn rallied them. "This will be fun!" He gestured at the board. "You choose a potion from one of the categories--"

"But those are the hardest ones to brew!" Pettigrew piped up. He looked so doleful that everyone laughed, including Slughorn.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it, Mr Pettigrew?" said Slughorn. "We _are_ in a N.E.W.T.S class! To continue with the description of our assignment, you and your partner will brew from start to finish the potion you've selected from one of these four categories. By start to finish, I _don't_ mean you'll put together a potion from ingredients you'll take from the classroom cupboard after I've written the recipe on the board. I must also disqualify any recipe you find in a school textbook, even a seventh-year N.E.W.T.s book."

More uneasy muttering arose.

"Yes, as Mr Pettigrew implied, these will not be easy potions," Slughorn continued. "You will be able to begin in the school library, but I doubt that Hogwarts makes available to students all the information you will need to brew your potion successfully--though of course, if you feel it would be helpful, you may apply to me for a note to admit you into the Restricted Section.

"Once you have your recipe, you will then collect your ingredients in the wild or purchase them from an apothecary with funds the headmaster has been so good as to set aside for our use. Then you will brew your potion as best you can, using your recipe, the ingredients you have obtained and whatever wit and determination you may have at your disposal.

"The deadline for your projects will be 23rd June. On or before that date, you will present me with a sample of your potion and a parchment detailing the reasoning behind each step you took to bring your potion to its finished form."

Slughorn smiled then, as if nothing pleased him more than the stunned looks some of the students were giving him and the mutinous mutterings of others.

"No, it's not easy," he said cheerfully. "Independent work rarely is. But here's a bit of an incentive: those of you who achieve full marks will be allowed to skip the final exam."

"Gosh, thanks," Avery muttered behind Severus. "Like I'll ever get anywhere near full marks."

"Shall we begin, then?" said Slughorn, and the murmuring died down. "Raise your hands, and when I call on you, name your poison--that is, a potion from one of the four categories. I'll let you know whether your choice is suitable for the project. If it isn't, you'll have to pick another potion."

Hands began shooting up into the air before Slughorn was finished. As Slughorn called on students, who named their choices, Severus turned to Lily. "How would you like top marks in this class _and_ the most glowing recommendation possible from Slughorn when you apply to the Healers' Programme next year?"

"I'd like it quite a lot, as you know very well," she said, looking wary. "Why?"

"Let me choose the potion, then," said Severus, ignoring her question, which only made Lily look more suspicious than ever.

"What potion?" she demanded.

"Veritaserum."

Lily stared at him.

"Weightless Wash, Mr Black?" Slughorn said into her silence. "Very well, though you'll find mixing up a truly efficacious wash is no easy matter."

"Veritaserum," said Lily slowly. Severus could see the eagerness in her eyes. "If you think Slughorn will let us make it..."

"It's the use of Veritaserum that's regulated by the Ministry, not the brewing." Severus shrugged. "If he says no, we'll choose another."

Though Lily looked far from ready to argue, Severus shot his hand into the air before she could raise any objections.

"Ah, Severus," said Slughorn in an avuncular tone. Severus's successful partnership with his favourite pupil had softened Slughorn's attitude toward him. "You and Lily have made a choice?"

"Yes, Professor," said Severus. "We'd like to brew Veritaserum."

A hush fell over the classroom. "Veritaserum," Slughorn repeated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus caught sight of Potter. He could see a slight frown between Potter's brows and an array of emotions flitting through his eyes.

"It's in one of your categories, sir," said Lily. "It's a Mind, Mood and Magic Alterant."

Slughorn fixed his bullfrog gaze on her. "You want to do this project too, do you, Lily?"

"I wouldn't be partnering with Severus if I didn't."

"That does shed a different light on the matter," said Slughorn. "Well. This project presents us with certain complications. Veritaserum is a controlled potion, meaning that the Ministry of Magic has strictly regulated its use. But I know of no law against permitting a student to brew it. Under the proper supervision, of course. In fact, Veritaserum is something which those who have achieved a N.E.W.T. in Potions are expected to be able to make." Slughorn paused. "I'd have to keep your Veritaserum in my office while it matures. But if you two really think you're up to it--"

"You're not going to let Snape make Veritaserum, are you?" Black burst out.

Slughorn blinked. "I didn't know I was required to ask your permission, Mr Black."

Severus smiled. Several of the Slytherins around him tittered.

"However," Slughorn continued. "The headmaster will be made aware that Mr Snape and Miss Evans are brewing Veritaserum for their class project, and so I assure you, Mr Black--" he paused to allow for more giggling--"there will be plenty of eyes peeled to ward against its illicit use."

The latest round of laughter died down when Slughorn looked sharply at Severus. "Surprising, really, that no Dark magic is employed in brewing a potion so obviously coercive in its effects. I suppose that's why anybody's free to brew it who can show he won't step outside the law in using it." His gaze travelled over the rest of the class. "Six months in Azkaban if you do use it illicitly."

Severus hadn't really given it any thought, but.... He glanced at Lupin. Lupin was looking at Slughorn with calm interest. Beside him was his project partner, Potter, whose eyes were smouldering. Black, nearby, looked like a sleeping volcano on the verge of awakening.

That might not mean much. Neither of them would want Severus making Veritaserum, just on general principle. After all, it had only just occurred to Severus that a few drops of Veritaserum poured into the proper glass of pumpkin juice might give him everything he needed to get all four of them thrown out of school.

"Miss Aylsworth and Miss Clearwater, Murtlap Essence! Very good!" said Slughorn, continuing to canvass the students.

Pettigrew, looking sullenly suspicious, suddenly leaned across the aisle and whispered something to Lupin. Lupin looked directly at Severus and frowned. Severus looked away.

He couldn't hope, then, that Lupin didn't realise exactly how dangerous Severus and Lily's potion might be for him.

Ah, well. It was just as likely that everyone would be about to board the Hogwarts Express for home by the time the Veritaserum matured, so that, even if Severus could get hold of some, he wouldn't have time to use it. That didn't mean, however, that he wouldn't have an empty phial in his pocket when he and Lily went to Slughorn's office to hand in their final report. You never knew what sort of opportunities might turn up.

"Ah, excellent! A Mindful Mixture for Mr Avery and Mr Wilkes!" announced Slughorn. "That will do it, then! I think we all have enough to keep us busy until the end of term. Class dismissed!"

---

A/N: _"I picked it up in Knockturn Alley, at Black Books," Ruskin had said, stroking the book's fur. _"Black Books" is one of the funniest TV shows I've ever watched.


	15. Chapter 15

FEATHERS, MUSHROOMS AND A WILLOW

Spring, 1976

If he and Lily earned top marks for brewing Veritaserum for their final project, Severus knew that they would _earn _them, for he, at any rate, was starting from scratch. Veritaserum was one potion he had never seen Mother make. Perhaps she had never wanted the unvarnished truth from Tobias.

Lily and Severus's first stop was the school library.

"There's nothing on Veritaserum here. That includes the Restricted Section, so don't ask about that, either," said Madam Pince with a satisfied smile.

Severus gritted his teeth. Lily smiled brightly. "Do you know where we could find some information on it, then? We're brewing it for our final project, and we want to get it exactly right."

Pince's own smile grew broader. "In the libraries of the Ministry for Magic. But you can't check out any of the materials unless you're a Ministry employee."

"What are we supposed to do, then?" said Severus. "We can't spend all our time at the Ministry libraries! We're going to school here!"

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" said Pince in as pleasant a voice as Severus had ever heard her use.

"But other people besides Ministry employees brew Veritaserum," said Lily. "I've heard Professor Slughorn keeps a fresh supply made up for the Headmaster."

Pince frowned. "I don't know where you can have heard anything like that."

Lily smiled sweetly in reply. "You wouldn't know where I might find the name and address of the Ministry's head librarian, would you?"

The furrow deepened between Madam Pince's brows. She surveyed Lily suspiciously. Severus boiled with rising frustration, but Lily kept the smile pasted on her face.

Finally Pince jabbed a knobby finger at a nearby bookshelf.

"Thank you!" said Lily.

They turned away, and Severus heard Pince mutter, "Veritaserum! What's Slughorn think he's playing at! Or Dumbledore, for that matter!"

The shelf Pince had indicated was full of directories giving information on all kinds of people, from the Elders of the Wizengamot to the officers of the Quidditch Union for the Administration and Betterment of the British League and its Endeavours.

"Ah, here it is," said Lily. She took a doorstopper of a directory entitled _Museums, Libraries and Educational Institutions of the Wizarding World_ off the shelf and lugged it to the nearest table. She opened it and flipped through its pages. "There!" she said.

Severus followed her pointing finger to the address in London of the Ministry for Magic Reference Libraries, Malvina Kelly, Head Librarian.

"We'll write to her and ask her if we can borrow a copy of the recipe for Veritaserum," said Lily.

Severus looked at her in frank disbelief.

"I'll sprinkle Dumbledore's name all over the letter. I'll bet he knows her. He knows everybody. Come on, we're supposed to act independently, aren't we?" Lily said when Severus didn't reply. "Besides, how else are we going to get it?"

She had a point. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," Severus allowed.

Lily returned the directory to its shelf, and she and Severus went their separate ways.

---

Severus didn't see Lily again until she came over to the Slytherin table while he was eating breakfast with Olaus Ruskin and Maddy Urquhart. Ruskin's brows rose infinitesimally when he laid eyes on Lily, and Severus immediately felt the heat crawl into his face.

Lily, her own cheeks flushed with excitement, laid a letter next to Severus's plate. "Look what Madam Kelly sent me!"

Severus opened it and read:

_6 May, 1976_

_Dear Miss Evans,_

_I am pleased to be able to grant your request for a copy of the Ministry Library's recipe for Veritaserum. As you indicated he would do, Professor Dumbledore has indeed confirmed that your N.E.W.T.s class are undertaking projects as advanced as the brewing of Veritaserum. He further recommended you to me as a young lady responsible and discreet enough to be placed in possession of all the information needed to brew Veritaserum._

_You will be assisted in your endeavour, I hope, by two additional volumes I am sending by separate owl: __Phases of the Moon in Potioning__, by Hesper Starkey and __An Auror's Guide to Truth Serums__, by Calendula Wright._

_Allow me to congratulate you for taking on this ambitious project._

_Sincerely,_

_Malvina Kelly, Head Librarian, Ministry for Magic Reference Libraries_

"What's that, Lily?" Ruskin said in his most affable tone. "A summer job offer?"

"Nothing so easy to get as that," said Lily. "It's the recipe for Veritaserum from the Ministry Libraries. Severus and I are making it for our end-of-term Potions project."

Ruskin looked honestly surprised. "Really? I'm impressed."

"Thanks! See you in class, Sev."

"'Sev,'" Ruskin repeated after Lily had left. "So, we're friends with the Mudblood again?"

Maddy sniggered, and Severus burned hotter than ever with humiliation.

Ignoring all that, Ruskin gave Severus an appraising look. "Veritaserum. Her idea or yours?"

"Mine," said Severus.

"Really?" Ruskin said it more slowly and softly than he'd said it to Lily. "I do expect great things from you someday. Really."

---

Lily agreed with Severus that they'd never be left in peace to discuss their project if they met in the Slytherin or the Gryffindor common room, and Pince would never allow them to talk at length in the library, so they got permission from Professor Slughorn to meet in the Potions classroom after hours. Thus evening found them in the classroom, going over the recipe for Veritaserum.

"We ought to be able to send to the Diagon Alley Apothecary for most of the ingredients," said Lily, peering at the notes at the bottom of the recipe, "but we'll have to collect the jobberknoll feathers and the moon-shifting mushrooms ourselves. The jobberknoll feathers are 'most efficacious when added by the hand of the wizard who has taken them,' and the moon-shifting mushrooms have to be collected at twilight on the night of the full moon and added 'when the sky is black and the full moon is high.'" She looked up. "We'll have to get busy. The full moon is next Thursday, so we'll have to start brewing the Veritaserum then if we expect to have it mature by the end of term."

---

The jobberknolls of Hogwarts lived at the edges of the Forbidden Forest, and early the next morning the permission came down from Professor Dumbledore for Severus and Lily to enter the forest as needed to collect jobberknoll feathers for their Potions project.

"I asked Mary Macdonald," Lily said as they trudged across the lawns toward the forest. "She's going for her N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures. She said the jobberknolls are nesting now. The hen sits on the eggs and tends the chicks while the cock hunts small insects and brings them back to the nest for the others to eat. They're very tiny birds, but I suppose we could get some feathers from the hen...." Her voice trailed off. She looked worried.

"What's the matter?" said Severus. "You Petrify the bird, pluck a few feathers and you're done."

Lily sighed. "It's not that easy. Mary says that whenever a spell touches a jobberknoll, it secretes a humour sort of like a natural Shield Charm, that makes it immune to magical effects. The humour saturates the bird's entire body, so any feathers we take after hitting a jobberknoll with a spell won't work in the Veritaserum. Even if we meant to cast the spell on something else, if it hits the jobberknoll, we're sunk."

Severus's stomach sank toward his toes. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"Neither did I," muttered Lily. "I hope we're not in over our heads."

Severus waited for her to blame him for choosing Veritaserum for their final project. She didn't. "It's too late to change our project now," he said. "We'd never finish by the end of term."

"I know." Lily bit her lip, looking determined. "We're not going to be in over our heads. We're going to get those jobberknoll feathers."

"From a nesting bird? I'm no tree climber."

"Well, I am. Or I was. Dad built a tree house in the back garden at home for Tuney and me; we practically lived there in the summer when we were little kids. You've seen it. Remember that day I showed it to you and we climbed up into it...?" Lily faltered suddenly and looked away.

"I remember," said Severus.

---

They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, arriving at an untended meadow very like the one in which Severus had shown Lestrange and Ruskin how to cast Firewhip and Sectumsempra. This one, however, was not thick with half-frozen, dying grasses, but dewily abloom with bugle, buttercups and numerous other spring flowers. Around the flowers buzzed clouds of tiny bees and wasps.

"Just what jobberknolls like to eat," said Lily, eying the humming insects. Squinting in the bright morning sunlight, she scanned the treetops at the edge of the forest. "I'll bet you anything there's a nest up there--aha, see?"

It took Severus some moments of squinting and peering to find what Lily was pointing at: a tiny bundle of twigs near the end of an pine branch that extended over the meadow's edge.

"A jobberknoll nest!" said Lily.

They moved quietly toward the tree. When they reached the base of the trunk, Lily looked up into the branches. Severus followed her gaze to the jobberknoll's nest. Perched on the nest was a small, brilliantly blue bird dotted with tiny silver speckles. With its head tucked under one wing, it appeared to be fast asleep.

"A nesting mother," whispered Lily. "She won't fly away, even if she sees us. She'll want to protect her eggs. Or her chicks, if they're hatched, though Mary says it's early for that...." She gazed into the branches and scanned the surrounding sky. "I don't see the cock. Good. Mary says, even though they're tiny, these birds can peck."

Lifting her foot to a protruding knob, Lily scrabbled up the tree trunk and swung herself into the lowest branch. She looked up at the sleeping jobberknoll. "With any luck, this won't take too long."

Lily climbed the tree easily and wriggled fearlessly out on the limb that held the jobberknoll nest. Sunlight fell upon her where she clung to the branch high above the meadow, brightening her face and gilding her hair. She stretched out along the limb, extending her hand toward the sleeping jobberknoll, her legs wrapped tightly around the thick part of the branch, close to the trunk.

His heart pounding, Severus looked away, into the sky. There, circling above the meadow, was a bird with broad, dun-coloured wings, a hooked beak and burning amber eyes which were fixed on the sleeping jobberknoll.

This bird Severus recognised: it was an eagle-eyed hawk. He looked back at Lily, whose fingers were within inches of the jobberknoll's tail and directly in the hawk's sights. "Lily, watch out!" he shouted.

The hawk uttered a harsh, cawing cry. At the same moment, Lily plucked three feathers from the jobberknoll's tail. Startled awake, the jobberknoll shot into the air, its wings beating in a blue blur against the paler blue of the sky. Then it whirled around, ready to dive-bomb Lily's offending hand, which was still close to its nest.

Any other bird would have been twittering angrily, but the jobberknoll remained eerily silent. And just as Severus was noting this, he saw the eagle-eyed hawk fold its wings close to its body and stoop.

Still clutching the feathers, Lily jerked back her hand. The eagle-eyed hawk fell upon the jobberknoll and curled its claws around the small bird's body. At that, the jobberknoll began to sing.

Then it chirped, croaked, growled and peeped. It gave a raucous cry not unlike that of the hawk which gripped it in its claws. It sighed like the wind in the trees. It kept making sound after varied sound until with a soaring turn the hawk carried it away. The last thing Severus heard from the tiny blue bird was a yell of triumph in a young male voice, the sort of sound a Quidditch chaser might make upon scoring a goal.

Severus stared in astonishment at the hawk receding into the sky, until he could hardly make out the jobberknoll hanging limply in its talons. Then he looked at Lily. She had, incredibly, wriggled even further out along the branch and was gazing with dismay into the jobberknoll's nest.

"Don't break the branch!" Severus said sharply.

He needn't have worried. Lily scooped up the jobberknoll nest, slid to the base of the branch and shimmied down the tree trunk, holding the nest aloft.

"What was that racket?" asked Severus when she reached the ground.

Lily cupped the nest in her hands and looked at it. "What racket?"

"That bird bellowed like--like a human being!"

"The jobberknoll?" Lily did not raise her eyes. "Jobberknolls are silent until they're about to die. Then they sing back in reverse order every sound they've ever heard. She knew she was about to die. So she sang."

There was a silence while Severus took that in and Lily looked intently at the jobberknoll nest. "They're hatching," she said softly.

"Hatching?"

"The baby jobberknolls."

Severus peered into the nest. A newly-hatched chick, its feathers still wet, blinked up at him. Another chick was busily parting a shell with its egg tooth. A third egg, jiggling a bit, had a hairline crack spreading over its surface.

Lily frowned worriedly at the nest, then looked at the sky in the direction toward which the eagle-eyed hawk had flown. But the hawk and its prey had disappeared.

"You've still got the feathers, haven't you?" asked Severus.

Silently Lily drew three feathers from her pocket. They rested in her palm, bright blue, dotted with silver specks that glittered in the sunlight like stars.

"Good!" said Severus. He pulled out his watch. "We'd better get going, or we'll be late for Potions. We can stow the feathers in our ingredients cupboard after."

"But what about the chicks?" asked Lily. "It's my fault they haven't got a mother. Sort of. I mean, if I hadn't scared the hen away from her nest, the hawk wouldn't have caught her."

Severus shrugged. "Isn't there a cock? Put the nest back into the tree and let him take care of them."

Craning its neck and opening its beak, the hatchling cheeped. In comparison to its shrivelled-looking little body, its mouth was a huge, yawning chasm. "Mary says the cock abandons the nest if the hen dies," said Lily.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it then."

Severus began to turn away. "I'll take them to Hagrid," Lily said suddenly. "He'll know what to do."

Severus jerked back around. "Hagrid! We don't have time for him! We're nearly late as it is!"

Lily frowned. "I didn't say you had to come." She tucked the jobberknoll nest into the sleeve of her robe and ran off toward the game-keeper's hut.

He watched her for a bit. Her knees pumped, her robe flapped and her long red hair flew behind her. She was surely too far away to hear him by the time he called, "Just don't lose the jobberknoll feathers!"

Again Severus turned away. He started for the school. It was all very well for Lily to be late. Slughorn wouldn't take points from her. It would be quite another story if he walked into the classroom after nine o'clock.

---

Next came the problem of the moon-shifting mushrooms. After lessons that day, Severus and Lily turned to the attack. They discovered a reference to the mushrooms in one of the books Lily had received from the Ministry library: Hesper Starkey's _Phases of the Moon in Potion-Making. _Severus read it aloud:

_"In potions such as Veritaserum and the Defences-Downdraught, which work mainly by weakening mental barriers, the moon-shifting mushroom, __fungus lunamutabilis__, is an essential ingredient. Both the common and the botanical names refer to the fluidity of the mushroom's magical properties, which makes the timing of its collection and preparation of paramount importance."_

Skipping over the references to the Defences-Downdraught, Severus read aloud the instructions for harvesting and preparing moon-shifting mushrooms for use in Veritaserum:

_"__Fungus lunamutabilis__ reaches its highest potency for addition to Veritaserum at twilight on the evening of the full moon. If any part of the ball of the sun can be seen over the horizon, it is too early to take your moon-shifting mushrooms. Once night has fallen, you are too late. Thus it is best to be by your chosen fairy-rings at sunset, as you will have at most forty minutes to harvest your mushrooms._

_"About two pounds of mushroom caps will supply sufficient virtue to your Veritaserum to effect a weakening of the mental resolve and magical capacity to resist questioning...."_

Lily looked a little queasy. "But that's what Veritaserum's for!" said Severus. She gave a shrug and a small, embarrassed smile, and Severus went on:

_"Once you have gathered your mushroom caps, first mince them with a silver-bladed potions knife, then powder them and add them to your cauldron in the dark of night. You must add the mushrooms to your Veritaserum on the same night you collect them, for once the moon sets, your mushrooms will lose all potency. They will then be useless in the formulation of any potion."_

Severus closed the book. "There you have it. I only hope moon-shifting mushrooms grow around Hogwarts. It'll be a pain getting permission to go somewhere else to collect them."

"Don't worry. Professor Slughorn said the school grounds are full of them. But they're only visible between sunset and nightfall at the full moon."

Severus raised his brows. "When did he tell you all this?"

"As soon as I got the book. I'd never heard of moon-shifting mushrooms before, so I asked him about them."

"It would have been a _tad_ more helpful of him to fill us in before now."

Lily laughed at his exasperation. "If you want something, sometimes you have to ask for it. Besides, Slughorn said he wasn't going to make it easy, remember?"

Not for most people. But for Lily Evans... "I am so glad we're working together on this project!" said Severus fervently.

Looking pleased and surprised, Lily smiled at him. "So am I!"

---

One thing that did turn out to be easy was getting permission from Slughorn to remain outside of the castle after sunset. He understood their need, for he'd made Veritaserum himself. And, as he seemed to intimate, it didn't hurt that Severus had been partnered with Lily Evans so often that year.

"She's been a good influence on you," said Slughorn, eying Severus thoughtfully. "You've grown."

"Thank you, Professor," said Severus.

He had been quite willing to take whatever approval from Slughorn that he could get. In a very few months, he would be in his seventh year. He would be asking Professor Slughorn, Potions Master of Hogwarts and his Head of House, for a letter of recommendation to the Head of the Apothecary Programme at St Mungo's Hospital.

After dinner on the evening of the full moon, Lily led Severus into the grounds, to a knoll which gave them a view of the Forbidden Forest, the Hogwarts greenhouses and (at a safe distance) the Whomping Willow. The sun was sinking beneath the tree tops.

"Professor Slughorn said he's seen as many as five fairy rings of moon-shifting mushrooms on this spot," said Lily. "That should be plenty." She looked at the ground as she spoke, but no mushrooms had yet appeared.

Severus understood the attraction, though. He too stared at the ground, waiting for the mushrooms to shift into visibility.

"Oh, and could you keep an eye out for some Fading Ferns while we're here?" asked Lily.

Veritaserum didn't require Fading Ferns. "Why?" said Severus.

"I'm collecting them for Remus. He and James Potter are making Duration Disillusionment Powder. Pretty demanding stuff, I must say--that's an Auror Programme-level formulation."

Severus had no doubt about that, for Mother had sometimes made Duration Disillusionment Powder to rub on his wand, schoolbooks and cauldron over the holidays. Sometimes it had been easier just to keep those things out of Tobias's sight, and, unlike a Disillusionment Charm, which needed to be renewed every few days, the powder kept working for weeks.

"Why can't Lupin collect the ferns himself?" The answer slotted into place in Severus's brain the moment he asked the question, and it was all he could do to keep his voice from trailing off. He waited with bated breath for Lily's reply.

"His mother got sick again and he had to go home. So he asked me to look for some Fading Ferns for him while we were collecting our mushrooms."

Severus didn't answer at once. He had been preoccupied with his end-of-year Potions project and with his project partner, Lily. She looked up from the ground now and again as she spoke, meeting his eyes with her startlingly bright green gaze. Severus loved her eyes, though they were far from the only part of her which had engaged his attention since they'd begun working together on Veritaserum. And so, except for its significance in the collection of moon-shifting mushrooms, he hadn't thought about the full moon for some time. Nor about Remus Lupin.

"Why won't Lupin's _friend_ help him?" asked Severus.

"I'm his friend," said Lily.

"I mean Potter. He's Lupin's project partner. Why won't he help him?"

"James has Quidditch practice all week. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw a week from Saturday, and Slytherin wins the Cup if Gryffindor loses. Erm, you did know that, didn't you?" Lily asked, looking amused. "Or have you been buried under a rock with our Potions project?"

"Maybe I have," said Severus, a bit miffed. "I want good marks in school so that I can get a good job when I leave school. What's a stupid Quidditch match next to that?"

"Nothing at all, I reckon, Severus Sobersides!" Lily said with a laugh. "Nothing unless you're obsessed with Quidditch, the way everybody else at Hogwarts is at the moment! You've got a point, though. It's fine for Potter to let his life revolve around Quidditch. We can't."

Severus knew exactly what she meant. Lily's family was comfortable but hardly wealthy. Potter was nothing short of filthy rich. As for Severus himself, those good marks which would lead to a good job were the only guarantee he had that he'd get food into his stomach and a roof over his head once he left school.

"Here they are," said Lily softly. Her eyes were fixed on the ground again, and her voice was full of the Muggle-born's wonder at the revelation of a new magic. Severus looked down too.

The last rays of the sun were disappearing into a peach and lavender twilight, and the moon-shifting mushrooms were beginning to appear. Peering with Lily into the growing gloom, Severus saw toadstools popping out of the earth all around him. Their cloud-grey caps, covered with fuzzy down, would have been practically imperceptible in the gloaming, if it were not for the markings, like thin veins of silver fire, that streaked across them. As he'd never known they grew at Hogwarts--much less in such profusion--Severus looked at them all around him with a wonder matching Lily's.

But then he got down to business, for the moon-shifting mushrooms, as plentiful and perfectly visible as they were now, would disappear completely once darkness fell.

"Your silver-bladed knife, don't forget," Severus said, pulling out his own.

"I remember," said Lily. She held up her knife, whose blade gleamed as brightly as the silver veins in the mushroom caps.

She had sent for it to the Diagon Alley Apothecary on Severus's advice. He'd been surprised when he'd found out she had actually taken his advice, for silver-bladed potioner's knives didn't come cheap. Severus was lucky that Mother owned two: one that she'd got from her own mother and one that she'd bought while she was still at Hogwarts, with access to the money of an old pure-blood family and the dreams of a young pure-blood witch. She would have been an apothecary in the clinical research department at St Mungo's, Mother had told Severus once, if she had not fallen in love with his father.

Mother's marriage to Tobias had relieved of the need for two potioner's knives, so Severus had for nothing what it must have cost Lily Galleons to own. It was proof, in cold, hard gold spent to purchase a knife that no one else in the class but Severus possessed, that Lily took both Potions and Severus very seriously.

Severus liked being taken seriously: especially by Lily. He watched her kneel down to harvest the mushroom caps, slicing the stems quickly and methodically and placing the caps gently into her collections bag. Severus knelt down beside her, and though he began collecting as methodically and carefully as Lily did, he was not as quick. Lily herself slowed him down.

Stopped him, actually. Severus's fingers slackened so that his knife nearly slipped from his grasp as he watched Lily's smooth, soft-looking hands, her agile fingers efficiently at work. She had rolled up the sleeves of her robe, so nothing stopped his eyes from travelling up her forearms. They were slender and supple, with fine, pale hairs just visible in the dwindling light. He could think of work for his own fingers now, encircling Lily's wrist tightly enough so that he could feel her pulse beating against them, like a bird's heart.

Severus had looked from Lily stretched along the tree branch, when she'd reached for the jobberknoll's tail. This time, he did not turn away. She bent slightly, her eyes on the mushroom caps as she cut them from the stems. Her breasts hung a bit, swelling against the fabric of her robe. She _had_ breasts, Severus thought with faint wonder. She hadn't only a year ago, by the lake after O.W.L.s. Now Lily's breasts, if she knelt over him as she was kneeling over the fairy-ring, might have filled his cupped hands.

His eyes wandered upward, lingered on her face. Lily's hair was bound back in a plait that lay between her shoulders. The dusk was not yet deep. Severus could still see the small depression beneath her jaw, where the bone met her neck. Could it possibly feel as soft there as it looked? He wanted to--

She looked up. "Severus, why aren't you picking mushrooms...?" Her voice trailed off, but their eyes were locked together for another long and silent moment before Lily jerked hers away.

She understood him. And he unbalanced her, stole her easygoing poise. "We--we'd better get back to work," she said, her eyes still averted. "We haven't got all night."

She was flustered. But was that good or bad? Severus pondered the question unsuccessfully as he harvested moon-shifting mushrooms at Lily's side. Presently he said, "I don't know if you noticed--maybe when you were putting the jobberknoll feathers into the storage cupboard?--but it doesn't look as though we'll have enough Solution Stabiliser to last out the Veritaserum's maturation cycle."

"I suppose we could send away to London for it," Lily said without looking up.

"It's pretty common stuff," said Severus, his voice carefully casual. "The sell it at Bobbin's, in Hogsmeade. I checked. As it's a Hogsmeade weekend, maybe we could go in on Saturday and pick some up."

"Yes. I could arrange to meet you there."

"Arrange to meet me?" said Severus. "No need to go to all that trouble, is there? We could walk into Hogsmeade together, go to Bobbin's and then, after that--I was wondering--would you like to have lunch at the Three Broomsticks?" As they'd used to do, before last June. Was it too much to ask for now? "Or maybe just a quick butterbeer, if we're too early for lunch."

Lily finished harvesting her fairy-ring before she finally looked up. Severus was close enough to see the flush darkening her cheeks and the pity and embarrassment in her eyes.

"Erm, no. Thank you. I mean, we can meet at Bobbin's. But the rest of it--I'm sorry. I can't." She was practically stammering. "Someone else has already asked me. I'm, ah, going to Hogsmeade with someone else."

Someone else? But she wasn't going out with anyone. She spent all her spare time with him, on the Potions project. She sat with her Gryffindor girlfriends at mealtimes. Mary Macdonald, Alice Aylsworth. Severus had seen them with her. No one, boy or girl, had ever accompanied her to the Potions classroom after hours, where she and Severus had met to plan their brewing of Veritaserum. Severus knew it, he'd made sure, he'd watched her.

"Who?" His voice rang out in the twilit silence.

Her embarrassment turned to dismay, while her pity, hateful to him, grew stronger.

"Severus, I had no idea--"

_"Who?"_

"James--"

"Oh, so _that's_ it!" Severus leaped to his feet, his fists clenched. _"That's_ it, is it?"

Lily, startled, backed away on her knees. Then she jumped up too, and her hand strayed toward her pocket.

"Oh, yes, _you_ know he fancies you!" Severus cried. "How many times has he asked you out, just this year! I thought you were different--"

"Different from what?"

"--but you're just like the rest of them, aren't you? Except you've got one thing over them: he fancies _you!"_

Lily's eyes narrowed. "What in _hell--"_

"You're as shallow as every other girl who wants to be seen with the Quidditch hero!" spat Severus. "And you're a climber, like the rest of your kind. You think if you get with Potter, his money and his impeccably pure blood will raise you to the upper crust of society. Well, it doesn't work that way. You'll be the blood traitors' pet, but there aren't that many of them, are there? And the true pure-bloods will always cut you. Always!"

He panted harshly, breathless with rage. But he'd struck home: Lily's face had turned from red to white.

"Are you finished?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Then let me clear up a misunderstanding you seem to have. I'm not going to Hogsmeade with James Potter. I'm going with James Sloper."

Severus stared at her.

"Who I suppose is a Quidditch hero," Lily continued, "if you call a reasonably talented Keeper a hero. But he's only a half-blood from a middle-income family, so he'd be no help to a social-climbing Mudblood like me."

Severus's stomach knotted sickeningly. "I--I never said--"

"But you meant it!" Lily cried. "So go ahead and say it, just like the rest of your Slytherin friends! You lied when you apologised to me! You haven't changed one bit since last year! And now you don't even have the excuse that someone's bullying you! James Potter's nowhere in sight! _You're_ the one who's like the rest of them--the foul-mouthed, bigoted Slytherin bastards!"

Lily paused to catch her breath. Severus, his jaw slack with shock, did not break the silence.

In a quieter, occasionally tremulous voice, Lily went on. "What I don't understand is _why._ That I'm a climber who'd manipulate somebody's affections to get ahead--that's the sort of thing _they'd_ say. Why do _you_ say it? You're not pure-blooded and you're not rich. In their eyes, you're not much better than I am. And no amount of snide laughter about Mudbloods in the Slytherin common room is ever going to change that."

"You said James...I thought you meant..."

"Well, I didn't. I don't much like James Potter, for the same reasons you don't like him." She looked at him oddly. "But--for God's sake, Severus, I don't obsess over him like you do. I don't let my hatred of James Potter consume every waking moment of my day."

What had he done? Severus moved his lips, trying to form words of apology and explanation. But, as if a Silencing Charm had been cast upon him, not a sound came out of his mouth.

"It'll be dark soon," said Lily shortly. "You can finish collecting the moon-shifting mushrooms. I'm going back to the classroom to start the Veritaserum." She turned on her heel and strode toward the castle, her plait bouncing against her back.

"Lily...wait...." Severus finally found his voice, faint though it was. Then louder, "Lily, I'm sorry! Please...."

She did not turn, and her angry, hurrying figure soon blended with the dusk.

"Lily, I didn't mean..." Severus said, too softly for her to hear unless she had been quite close, not far away from him as she was now, perhaps halfway to the castle.

He hadn't meant it, he hadn't meant it...he hadn't _said_ it! _She_ had! She'd said Mudblood, not he!

Severus turned around sharply. He only just stopped himself from dumping his mushrooms onto the ground and grinding them under his heel. It was almost worth it to ruin his own project, if it meant ruining hers as well.

Almost, but not quite. He settled for kicking the caps off the rest of the mushrooms in his fairy-ring. When he was finished, he wandered off to find more of them to kick.

Why hadn't she heard him out? Why didn't she--why didn't _anyone_--listen to him? Severus had thought she was different--well, she _was_ different--Sloper, though he wasn't as unpopular as Severus (no one was, not that _he_ cared), was no Potter.

_If not Potter, then why not me?_ She _was_ different from other girls, she'd actually liked him, they'd actually been friends, she was so beautiful--_Why not me?_

"I didn't call her a Mudblood!" said Severus aloud.

Was that true? Or was "your kind" the polite cover for a coarser term?

Severus answered by aiming a kick at the mushrooms in the new ring he had found. But he was frustrated even in that. The silvery veining in the mushroom caps ran and faded like ink in rain, and one by one the moon-shifting mushrooms began to disappear.

Severus looked up. The eastern sky was the deep blue colour of the irises in Professor Sprout's flower beds. The moon had risen, but its light was not yet bright enough to strike the earth. His angry and distracted wanderings had brought Severus within easy sight of the Whomping Willow, but the Whomping Willow was not all that he saw. Heading toward the Willow from the direction of Hogwarts castle were Madam Pomfrey and Remus Lupin.

Severus didn't believe his eyes at first. Hadn't Lily said she was collecting Fading Ferns for Lupin because he'd gone home to his mother? But after Severus had blinked a few times, Madam Pomfrey and Lupin were still there, close enough now to set the Willow's branches swirling.

They stopped. Then Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and she and Lupin disappeared.

Severus's mind went blank with astonishment, until he realised that Madam Pomfrey must have Disillusioned them both. He stared at the spot in front of the Willow where they had melted from sight. His mind, far from blank now, felt as though it had burst into flame.

Lupin wasn't supposed to be here. Lupin was supposed to be at home, at his sick mother's bedside. That was why Lily was collecting Fading Ferns for him. So why was he at Hogwarts, being led to the Whomping Willow at dusk by the school matron?

Severus didn't know what the Willow had to do with this. But if Madam Pomfrey was going about with Remus Lupin after curfew on the full moon, then Headmaster Dumbledore had to know about it. He had to approve. For full moon night was the most dangerous night of the month to be abroad after dark, even here at Hogwarts. The teachers had always warned, hadn't they, that werewolves roamed the Forbidden Forest on the night of the full moon?

Speaking of werewolves, Lupin obviously lied when he claimed he went home to tend his mother on full moon nights. Just as obviously, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, the teachers and Potter's gang all knew the truth. Whatever the truth might be.

What _was_ the truth? That, if Remus Lupin's mother wasn't a werewolf, then Remus Lupin..._was?_

It couldn't be...it couldn't be.... Professor Dumbledore wouldn't dare let a werewolf into Hogwarts...would he?

No. The teachers, the Governors, if they suspected, the parents, if any of them found out..._someone_ would rebel, would rise up and have Lupin expelled, Dumbledore sacked...wouldn't they?

Severus stared at the Whomping Willow. He did not know how much time passed before he actually saw it again. But when he did, the sky was black, the light of the full moon touched the blades of grass around his feet, all the moon-shifting mushrooms had disappeared....

And the werewolves had transformed.

Whatever the truth was, Professor Dumbledore knew it, the teachers knew it and Potter's gang knew it. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. And--of course--Remus Lupin.

Severus looked for another moment at the Whomping Willow. Its branches remained still. Madam Pomfrey and Remus Lupin did not reappear.

Severus slowly turned his steps toward Hogwarts castle, to resume work on the Potions project with Lily Evans. Perhaps he should have considered how he was going to manage that after the things they had said to each other. But his mind was too full of what he had just seen at the Whomping Willow to admit another thought.


	16. Chapter 16

AT MALFOY MANOR

Winter, 1980

The Knight Bus jarred to a stop, nearly throwing Severus and his mother out of their seats. Severus caught a rail with one hand and his mother's forearm with the other just in time.

"Malfoy Manor!" called the conductor.

Severus kept hold on his mother's arm as they stood up. She was shaky, red blotched her cheeks and she had hardly been able to hold back her tears since they'd boarded the bus at Linden Lane. She clung desperately to his robe like a child, wadding a clump of it in her fist as they went down the aisle.

The conductor eyed them suspiciously, no doubt wondering what business such a disreputable-looking pair could possibly have at Malfoy Manor. Severus stared back coldly, and with an officious harrumph the conductor looked away.

Severus and his mother disembarked into a narrow country lane. With a bang, the bus leapt a dozen yards down the lane. With another bang, it disappeared.

Severus looked around. Moonlight sparkled on a dusting of snow, revealing a tangle of brambles on one side of the lane and a trim yew hedge on the other.

"Yes, this is it," whispered Mother.

Her eyes were strangely alight. Severus wondered what memories and longings were passing through her mind. But he did not ask. He followed in silence as Mother turned into a gravel drive. The hedge seemed to march beside them on either side of the drive, like a tall and unassailable guard.

They had not got far when a wrought-iron gate loomed before them. Mother stopped, looking uncertain. Severus approached the gate and peered through iron bars at a drive winding off into darkness. Tentatively he lifted his hand to the latch.

The decorative furls at the top of the gate melted and re-formed into a face far more forbidding than the Seeing Eye of St Mungo's, and its voice, nothing like the Eye's soothing bureaucratic monotone, rang out like a fire bell: "State your purpose!"

Mother's uncertainty turned to dismay. "They always knew me before--"

The iron twisted again, and the fearful mask was replaced by a benevolently-smiling likeness of Narcissa Malfoy. "Eileen! Severus! Do come in!"

The gates swung open, and Mother, her face relaxing in relief, again led the way down the hedge-lined drive. The strange silence fell upon her again, until a rustling drew her and Severus's eyes to the top of the right-hand hedge. A white peacock fanned its tail and looked haughtily down on them. "Abraxas is still breeding them, I see," murmured Mother.

Malfoy Manor appeared before them at the end of the drive. Snow mantled its sills and eaves. Christmas decorations brightened the front door and candles gleamed in the leaded windows. The front door was thrown open and golden light poured out.

"Eileen! Severus!" Narcissa Malfoy hurried down the stone steps. She clamped Mother to her breast and pressed Mother's cheek with her own. "I am so happy to see you--barring the circumstances, of course--oh, do come in!"

Narcissa kept a kindly yet proprietary hand on Mother's arm as she led them through a cavernous, portrait-lined hallway to a sumptuous drawing room. A thick carpet muffled their footsteps. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a muted glow on walls covered in purple silk brocade. One corner held a tall Christmas tree sparkling with candles, garlands and baubles. Flames danced merrily in the grate of a huge marble fireplace.

Narcissa settled Severus and his mother in two commodious armchairs and took a third for herself. "First things first," she said. "Dobby!"

A house-elf scurried from a shadowy doorway. It had the largest and roundest eyes Severus had ever seen: eyes which regarded him with an expression of anxiety.

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa?" said Dobby.

"Cake and the best of Master Lucius's elf-made wine for our guests, please." Her elegantly imperious tone suited Narcissa Malfoy, the mistress of Malfoy Manor, even better than it had suited Narcissa Black, the pure-blood princess of Slytherin House. As Dobby scampered off to obey her, Severus glanced at his mother.

Honesty informed him that, even if she weren't bedraggled, weary and a generation older, Mother could never have been as beautiful as Narcissa Malfoy. And yet she was a pure-blood, who had been expected to marry another pure-blood. If she had lived up to expectations, Severus might have been born in--well, not a house like Malfoy Manor, perhaps, but certainly into circumstances better than those in Spinner's End. Not all pure-bloods were as rich as the Malfoys and the Blacks, but as far as Severus knew none were poor, either. Unless, like Mother, their families had cut them off for breaking the rules.

The wine and cake arrived. "Thank you, Dobby," said Narcissa, taking the tray from the house elf. "I will serve the lady and gentleman. You may go."

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa." Dobby blinked with undiminished anxiety at Mother and Severus. Then, with a deep bow, he left.

Narcissa placed plates of cake and glasses of wine before her guests. The cake was pound cake, which melted warm and buttery on Severus's tongue. He had never drunk elf-made wine before, and after a few sips knew he had never tasted anything like its fragrant, floral sweetness, like the essence of roses mixed with grapes warmed by a mild autumn sun.

"Thank you, Narcissa, thank you," said Mother, looking braced by her own glass of wine, which, emptied, now sat on the side table. "You're such a very good girl."

"Yes, thank you," said Severus. "For taking us in as well; I can assure you we won't trouble you for long--"

"Nonsense! You must stay as long as you like! I won't hear of anything else! But--you were evicted? How? I don't understand."

With the distinct feeling that she would prefer to tell the story, Severus looked at his mother. She did tell it: haltingly, but at least without tears.

It was bad enough without storms of weeping, but perhaps Mother was past that now. Severus had been working late and thus had missed Tobias's latest escapade. But Mother told of nothing he hadn't heard plenty of times before: of Tobias's drunken bellowing in the street, of the tenants' angry summoning of the landlady and the threats to call Magical Law Enforcement.

"But how did he find you?" asked Narcissa. "Linden Lane is a Wizarding district. Isn't it under Muggle-Repelling Enchantments?"

"I don't know how he found us," Mother said softly. "I swear it."

"There, there!" Narcissa patted Mother's hand. "Dear Eileen!"

Mother broke down at last. She buried her face in her hands in a vain attempt to stifle her sobs. Tears leaked between her fingers.

Narcissa transferred her hand to Mother's shoulder. "I won't hear of anything but your staying here as long as you like," she repeated as Mother wept on. "I insist. You and Severus are our honoured guests."

Mother lowered her hands and wiped them on her robe. "You've befriended me, Narcissa--_me!_--and now this!"

Severus wanted to sink through the luxuriously-carpeted floor, but Narcissa, taking Mother kindly into her arms, seemed sincere. "Of course you! Of course this! Does the daughter of one of our oldest pure-blood families, my own mother's friend, deserve any less? And Severus, my old school mate, a fellow Slytherin!"

That last bit might have been a stretch. But, seeing his mother smiling and drying her tears with Narcissa's proffered handkerchief, Severus was in no mood to quibble.

After Mother was calmed and drinking her second glass of wine, Narcissa rang the servants' bell. With a _crack!_ of Apparition, the house-elf Dobby reappeared.

"Have guest rooms prepared in the south wing for Mrs Snape and her son," said Narcissa. "They'll be staying with us for a while."

The elf bowed and Disapparated.

"The south wing has the sunniest rooms in the house," said Narcissa. "And you'll have a view of the garden. Nothing but the best for Eileen Prince and her son!"

"Thank you, Narcissa," said Mother. "But--you know--it's Snape, not Prince. I haven't been Eileen Prince for a long time."

"That could easily be remedied--"

Severus looked sharply at Narcissa.

"--if you were to divorce him."

There was no condescension in Narcissa's voice. Still Mother, seeming to avoid her eyes, looked around the room and did not answer.

What was she thinking? That a pure-blood witch who had married properly didn't have to consider divorce? That she was just as deserving of comfort and respect as Narcissa Malfoy? That it was hardly fair that one youthful mistake should have been enough to ruin her life?

After all these years, Severus couldn't have guessed from looking at her. All he knew was what was crossing his own mind.

Mother set her glass down. Narcissa directed her wand at the servants' bell, and the empty glasses and crockery disappeared.

"You'll be wanting your beds now, of course," Narcissa had begun when from the hallway came the sound of a door opening, the stamping of feet and the twittering of house elves.

"Miserable weather. And of course she will," said a gruff voice. "What's the Weasley faction ever done for Millicent Bagnold?"

"Nothing at all, Father," came Lucius's voice in reply. "But I haven't noticed that Millicent appreciates us any more than she ever did."

The drawing room door opened, and Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy came in. Abraxas's silvery brows shot up as soon as he laid eyes on his daughter-in-law. "Still up, Narcissa, in your condition? You ought to be taking better care of yourself!"

A faint flush climbed into Narcissa's cheeks. "I'm fine, Father, thank you. And, as you may have noticed, we have guests."

The slightly disgruntled look on Abraxas's face told Severus that he wasn't accustomed to entertaining strangers at this hour. His eyes swept over them and stopped on Mother. Frowning, he came closer and peered into her face. "Why, if it isn't Eileen Prince--"

"--Mrs Eileen Snape," said Lucius at the same time. He was staring at them in frank surprise. "And her son, Severus. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Severus and Eileen will be paying us an extended visit," said Narcissa.

"Oh, no," said Mother. "We couldn't impose. Not if you're unwell."

"I'm fine." Narcissa's colour deepened and she cast Abraxas an irritated glance. He missed it entirely, for he was still looking at Mother. Lucius, however, gave his wife an encouraging nod.

"Lucius and I are expecting," Narcissa said.

Mother's face lit up with happy relief. "Why, how wonderful for you! Congratulations! When is the baby due?"

"In June." Narcissa smiled brightly. "The midwife says I'm nearly past the morning-sickness stage, so I shouldn't be too horrible a hostess."

"But why are they here?" said Abraxas. "Not to tell you your job, Narcissa, but Heloise would never have entertained the wife and son of a Muggle."

Severus rose stiffly. "As my mother has said, we wouldn't dream of imposing--"

"And as _my_ mother is no longer with us, Narcissa must do the best she can, " Lucius said pointedly. "You said you were tired, Father. Don't you want to go to bed?"

"I suppose I do. Eileen, nice to see you again." Abraxas nodded at Mother, then looked at Severus. "And...awfully sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name?"

Severus unclenched his teeth. "Severus."

"Severus. Yes. Well." Abraxas turned to Lucius and Narcissa. "Good night, then."

After Abraxas had closed the door behind him, Lucius sighed and shook his head. "Severus, Mrs Snape--I do apologise. He's an old man and he says the first thing that comes into his head."

Severus, his mouth clamped shut to keep his rude retort behind his teeth, could think of nothing polite to say. Neither, apparently, could Mother.

"Oh, dear," murmured Narcissa.

Lucius sighed again, then said, "Let's talk, Severus. Alone, if you don't mind, ladies?" He had Severus's arm and ushered him to the door before anyone had a chance to answer.

---

Severus watched as Lucius busied himself at the sideboard in his library. He hadn't seen Lucius since the night, in this very room, that he had struck Lucius with Sectumsempra at Voldemort's command. As he sat in one of the armchairs, his feet rested on the very rug--Persian, robin's-egg blue--into which Lucius had bled.

He didn't know what to think about that. He could remember the dark power of the Sectumsempra curse gathering in his heart, surging hotly through his blood to the tips of his fingers. He could remember echoes of that power pounding in his brain as he'd looked down at Lucius trembling and bleeding on the rug. He could remember thinking nothing at that moment but that he had mastered Lucius Malfoy and proven himself to Lord Voldemort.

Now Severus found it hard to believe he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. The rug was spotless, the wood of the floor and furnishings gleamed. The library was the same sedate sanctuary it had been before Severus had torn Lucius open with Sectumsempra.

Lucius turned. "Are you sure you won't have any Firewhisky, Severus?"

Severus declined. His overtired brain was already buzzing with the wine. Lucius filled a glass of whisky for himself and sat down next to Severus. Severus's eyes went instantly to his face. Pale, almost translucent in the glow of the candlelight, it showed no scars. Severus remembered the dittany smeared over the cuts on Lucius's face the morning after. Someone had assiduously maintained the treatment regimen--perhaps Dobby, the perpetually anxious house-elf.

"Somehow I have the feeling you didn't come down for the hunting," said Lucius.

"I don't have to stay," Severus said quickly. "I can sleep in a Trainee's room at the hospital. But Mother--Narcissa said--"

Lucius raised a hand. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're staying. But what happened? Your mother looked upset."

"We've been evicted," Severus said flatly.

Lucius blinked. "Evicted? But surely you were able to pay the rent?"

"Of course I could pay the rent!" snapped Severus.

Lucius's eyebrows rose. But he said nothing.

He was waiting, clearly. If he wanted to know more, why didn't he ask Narcissa? But no: after suffering the humiliation of hearing Mother quaver through the story in Narcissa's presence, Severus was to relive the torment by repeating it to Lucius.

He got through it as quickly as he could. And all the while, looking into Lucius's face, he could tell that Lucius hadn't the faintest idea what it was like to be put out in the street because of his father's drunken antics, any more than he had an idea what it was like to live without the rich yet understated comfort that surrounded him day and night. He did not know what it was like to sit before his pure-blood betters and prove to them once again how very much better they were.

It was unbearable. Was that why Severus retreated again into the memory of Sectumsempra? The time when he'd had the power, not Lucius, because he'd always had more and better magic than Lucius, even if he had less and worse of everything else?

Bathed in that power, as he had watched Lucius shaking and bleeding beneath him, he had felt no shame. He had been unashamed of Mother for letting a Muggle mill worker steal her magic by destroying her happiness. He had been unashamed of himself for being ugly, poor and unwanted.

Lord Voldemort had given all that to him that night, by giving him the command to cast Sectumsempra on Lucius Malfoy. It was as though he knew exactly what Severus needed and what he needed to overcome.

And since that night--nothing. Voldemort had forgotten Severus.

"Really, Severus, something needs to be done about that man," said Lucius. "I know he's your father, but.... Well. I will do what little I can, at any rate. You and Mrs Snape shall stay at Malfoy Manor as long as you like."

---

The Christmas season ended, and Lucius and Narcissa remained as good as their word. Not a hint was dropped that Severus and Mother should do anything other than stay on indefinitely at Malfoy Manor. Severus did not even have to pay for the removal and storage of his and Mother's furniture. Lucius sent house elves round to Linden Lane to collect their belongings and transfer them to an outbuilding on the estate. Severus had his owls forwarded to Malfoy Manor, and in the mornings he Flooed from the marble fireplace in the drawing room to the lobby of St Mungo's Hospital.

Work went on as usual, with the added benefit that Severus did not have to worry about Mother while he was there. Narcissa treated her like a queen. With her as with Severus, Lucius was all urbanity, the perfect host. When they visited, Druella Black was kind and Bellatrix Lestrange was friendlier than Severus had ever seen her. After his initial disgruntlement, even Abraxas was courteous.

Under their attentions, Mother bloomed. Her magic returned. Not the least contributor to the happiness of them both was the impregnable magical security of Malfoy Manor, which in no way depended on Mother's unreliable resolve to shun Tobias Snape.

And so (except for the curious frown Apothecary Morgan gave him when he submitted his change of address) work--and, indeed, life--went more smoothly for Severus than it had ever done before.

Life did not seem to be going so well for Lily Potter. Two weeks into January, she had not yet returned from what she had told Severus would be a three-day holiday beginning the day after New Year's.

He might have thought that she had extended her holiday, but Trainee Healers were lucky to get a week off together. He might have thought that her work schedule was none of his business--that Lily Potter ought not to concern him at all. But Severus had seen the worried look cross Harding's face when, in a carefully casual voice, he had asked after Lily.

"She's ill," said Harding.

Severus's stomach knotted. "Ill? With what?"

Irritation joined Harding's worry. "Don't know. But then, nobody ever tells me anything."

Later, when he passed a gaggle of Trainees in the corridor, overhearing Lily's name coupled with the words "baby" and "Miscarriage--?" did not ease the tightness in Severus's midsection.

Nor, really, did it explain it. Women survived miscarriages. Unless the miscarriages were caused by Dark magic.

_"Voldemort's done enough. He's had things his way long enough. We have to fight him, we have to get rid of him before our children are old enough to suffer the way we've suffered."_

Why had that come into his mind? He hadn't thought Lily was going to fight Voldemort when she'd said it, and he didn't think she'd fight him now. With his wife pregnant, even Potter wouldn't be such a fool. Oh, they'd both talked in school, when the words "You-Know-Who" had begun to be heard. All the Gryffindors had talked. Even Pettigrew had run on about what a hero he'd be. It didn't mean anything.

Or so Severus thought until a couple of days later, when Lily returned to Accident and Emergency. Severus was trundling along with his potions trolley toward the Healers' desk when he saw her. He stopped in his tracks.

She was on crutches, and it was easy to see that she needed them: from knee to ankle, her right leg was curled outward, gently but grotesquely, like a strung bow. Severus had seen enough on the day Gideon and Fabian Prewett had been brought in to deduce that she must have been the victim of a Bone-cracker Curse.

She didn't look to be in pain--she was trading jokes with Harding--but the laughter didn't make it to her eyes. They had a hard, wary look, foreign to Lily's eyes, but Severus had seen its like before. He couldn't think where at first, then suddenly it came to him. Lily looked just like Rufus Scrimgeour.

Other Trainees, Lily's co-workers and friends, came up to her as soon as they saw her, eventually surrounding her. Severus caught the end of a question in a strained female voice: "--baby?"

"No," Lily said rather loudly. "The baby's fine." Her voice fell again. Severus drew closer.

"--James wasn't home, and I surprised a couple of thieves trying to break in. They're on their way to Azkaban now, and when they get there, they'll _still_ look worse than I do."

Severus heard as much relief as amusement in the Trainees' laughter. A couple of them left to return to work, leaving a gap through which Severus faced Lily.

"Oh! Hi, Severus."

Severus glanced at her deformed leg. "A Bone-cracker Curse?"

Lily met his eyes. By the expression in hers, Severus could tell that she hadn't forgotten the Prewetts, either.

"Brilliant diagnosis, Snape," said a Trainee sarcastically. Severus heard the undercurrent of fear in his voice. All of Lily's friends at St Mungo's were Trainee Healers. They knew as well as Severus did that it wasn't normally petty housebreakers who cast Bone-cracker Curses.

Lily forced a smile. "Yeah. Brilliant. That's exactly what it was."

"You should be home," said Severus shortly.

"Yeah, well, you know Galen. Unless you've been carried into the department on a stretcher, you come in to the department to work." Severus's annoyance deepened, and her smile broadened. "I'm kidding. I'm just here to do some parchment-work. Writing up some research."

"Oh. Well. Good." Severus turned his back on her and went to finish the stocking. He heard sniggering behind him as he left, but that was nothing new to him, and at the moment it was the least of his worries.

---

When Severus returned later that day to A&E to fill an order, his first thought was that Lily must have been involved in some very important research. She was surrounded this time not by Trainees but by Galen Sage, Eugenia Wort and Head Healer Constance Meed. When he heard the name "Dumbledore" arise from that little knot of people, his second thought was that Lily had lied to him.

It wasn't that Dumbledore had never appeared at St Mungo's--Severus knew very well that he had. It was that, in his experience, Dumbledore had never had anything to do with Trainee Healers or petty housebreakers. Though what Dumbledore might ever have had to do with the Bone-cracker Curse, Severus wouldn't have ventured to guess.

He might have asked Lily, if he'd had the nerve to approach anyone surrounded by Sage, Wort _and_ Meed. It didn't matter as much, though, as that pile of orders waiting for him in Potions and Physics. Besides, before he had a chance to take a step toward her, Lily was whisked out of the department in that cloud of very important people.

---

Every morning, when Severus sat up on the side of his feather bed and set his feet in the deep pile of the carpet, he told himself he would check the small ads at the back of the _Prophet_ for flats. He didn't take the newspaper laid on the table by the house elf--that paper, he told himself, belonged to the Malfoys. He'd buy one at work. But when he got to work, he found he never had the time to make his way to the fifth floor, to buy a newspaper in the gift shop.

And then, when he got home, there was Mother, effusing with Narcissa over the delightful day they'd had together, joining with Druella in cosseting the expectant mother, or even (and this never failed to astound Severus) chatting with a smiling and nodding Bellatrix Lestrange.

That last, in itself, was enough to drive all else before it out of Severus's mind--including his intention of checking the small ads for a flat before he went to bed and sank his tired head into the sweetly-scented, fluffy feather pillow.

---

For once, instead of conspiring against Severus, the world seemed to be working with him to maintain him in this luxurious routine. After that first night, Lucius never mentioned Tobias. He never inquired into the progress of Severus's hunt for new lodgings. After Severus had been at Malfoy Manor for a week, however, Lucius did begin again to speak of Lord Voldemort.

He never brought up the subject unless they were alone. Severus had no idea whether the rest of Lucius's family knew he wore the Dark Mark, and he didn't ask. But neither he nor they objected when Lucius steered him into the library of an evening to share with him a bottle of claret and his musings on Lord Voldemort.

"I have great hopes for him, Severus," Lucius said. "He wants what we want: for pure-blood wizardry to reclaim its rightful place in the world: the _entire_ world. Let the Muggles know us and fear us as they once did."

Lucius had waxed passionate on that theme before Severus had taken the potioner's post in Azkaban. Severus had learned since then that Voldemort was more than a political activist.

"He has delved deeply into the Dark Arts. He has a natural affinity for them.... Well, you saw that when I introduced you." Lucius glanced quickly at the Persian rug. "He wants power--power over the Ministry, the schools, Gringotts--because that power will give him, among other things, the security to immerse himself further in the Dark Arts, to pursue his studies exactly as he sees fit."

For that, Voldemort needed to rule the wizarding world and terrify the Muggle world? "What does he wish to learn?" asked Severus.

"He has never been clear on that. But I think I can guess." Lucius paused, looking as though he expected Severus to fill the silence. But Severus did not.

"Can't you?" said Lucius. "But only look at him. He is like no man I have ever seen--like no man who has ever lived. The longer I know him, the less like a man he becomes." His voice fell until it was nearly inaudible. "I wonder if he is still human."

Again Lucius fell silent, and again Severus did not interrupt.

"But then," Lucius resumed, "in order to drive out one's human failings, one must drive out one's humanity. Must one not? And what is the greatest human failing, the very mark of humanity?"

"I don't know," Severus answered truthfully.

Lucius looked at him. "Perhaps not. You don't know him as well as I do. You hardly know him at all. Though you will soon, I think."

When? wondered Severus. But he was even more curious about the answer to Lucius's question. "What failing is the mark of humanity?"

"Why, death, of course," said Lucius. "The monstrous futility, in which all our passions and labours end as a handful of dust. Our greatest enemy and the essence of our human nature."

Severus stared at Lucius, struck dumb by his unwonted eloquence.

Lucius smiled as if he understood. "I have known him for a while now. I know some, though not all of the way he thinks. I believe he is seeking to conquer that great failing of death. I believe he is seeking immortality. And I am certain that if anyone can find it, he can."

_"I don't want to live in a world ruled by a wizard who wants nothing for all eternity but his own great, dark, bloated self. I don't want my child born into a world like that."_

So Lily had said of the Dark Lord, before a petty thief had hit her with the Bone-cracker Curse.

"Is that what you want?" asked Severus. "Is that why you joined him?"

A shadow flitted through Lucius's eyes. Then he chuckled. "The cost seems rather high, don't you think? I'd rather live my life, however short it may be, as a human. No, my desires are much simpler. When he's won the world, he's said he'll put me in a position to help him run it. For our kind."

"Minister of Magic?"

"Why not, if that's what it takes?"

"And what have you done to earn that?"

"It's not so much what I have done, though I've certainly done my share," said Lucius. "It's what I will do, by bringing him you."

"He doesn't seem very interested in me," said Severus. "I haven't heard from him since--since we met here before."

"Since you demonstrated your power to him," Lucius said softly. "I've found you can't conclude anything by his silence. Oh, yes, I have every confidence.... You see, you and he are very much alike."

"Alike!" said Severus, startled.

"Yes," said Lucius. "You're both very powerful. And you're both half-bloods from rather impoverished backgrounds."

Severus didn't answer.

"You didn't know that, did you? I don't think he's told it to very many people, if to anyone at all except me. So that I can tell it to you. And you, of course, will keep it to yourself."

"Of course," said Severus. He had felt no desire to divulge that confidence when Voldemort had given it to him. He felt none now that Lucius repeated it. To speak of that blood status which he shared with the Dark Lord, a status which Lucius could never attain, seemed like a crass boast.

"It will be soon, I think," said Lucius. "The Dark Lord will invite you into our ranks, and then you will be able to tell him what you want. What can that be, I wonder? You seem so frugal and self-denying."

_"Tell the truth, Severus: what do you really want?"_

_"Freedom from Tobias Snape.... Freedom from my father for my mother and me."_

"You were there when I told Lord Voldemort what I wanted." Though with his blood pouring from the wounds of Sectumsempra onto the Persian rug, Lucius might have had other things on his mind.

A smile played about Lucius's lips, but his eyes held cold appraisal. "Ah, yes. So I was. Freedom, you said. Freedom's a good thing. Especially to one who's had so little. I think you'll come to us very soon, Severus. If you find that's what you want."

Severus said nothing, for he could think of nothing to say that wouldn't have sounded idiotic, overblown or both. And Lucius seemed to have said what he'd taken Severus off into the library to say. So, as the fire died down and the cold crept up on them, they left the library for their beds.

---

As Severus waited for Voldemort to return to Malfoy Manor, he waited for Lily to return to Accident and Emergency. Nearly a week had passed since he had seen her disappear in the midst of Sage, Wort and Meed.

The thought of asking after her seemed impossible at first. What business was it of his? What if Potter found out? Severus doubted he would say anything. This wasn't Hogwarts, after all. But the thought of Potter knowing that Severus had been nosing around after his wife, as _he'd_ surely put it.... Severus didn't need the humiliation.

And yet he couldn't bear not knowing, either. The memory of her leaning on crutches, her leg twisted by the Bone-cracker Curse, gave him no rest. Something about it had burrowed into his mind and stayed there.

He broke down finally and asked Harding. "Lily Potter's not on holiday again, is she?"

"Holiday!" Harding looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "No, she's not on holiday. She's on medical leave. Complications of pregnancy. The midwife says she'll be fine as long as she takes care of herself, but a Trainee can't do that unless she goes out on leave." Harding chattered on, as if happy, this time, to be in the know.

"I see," said Severus, though he didn't. He had heard Lily say that the Bone-cracker Curse hadn't affected her baby, and neither she nor anyone else had mentioned any problems with her pregnancy before this.

It didn't mean she couldn't be having problems, of course. What on earth did Severus know about pregnancy?


	17. Chapter 17

LILY, LUPIN AND BLACK

May 1976

Lily Evans should have been a Slytherin. She proved it to Severus by staying on the Veritaserum project even after their row. She had the single-minded ambition to go for top marks in Potions even if it meant partnering with someone she loathed.

Severus knew she loathed him. He couldn't imagine otherwise after the way she'd received his attempted apology--an apology which meant much more to him now than when he'd made it at the beginning of the term.

He'd overtaken her in a quiet hallway as soon as he saw her alone. "Lily, about the other night--what I said--I'm sor--"

"Don't put yourself through it, all right? It won't make any difference."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you really want to be Ruskin's little half-blood hanger-on or the doormat Lestrange wipes his feet on, right down to making their filthy opinions your own, then I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to."

Her face was the same colour it had been when she'd caught him watching her collect moon-shifting mushrooms. "You don't mind spending time with me on the Potions project," he said acidly. "You don't mind using me and what I know."

"Oh? If you don't like it, why don't you find another partner?"

Severus stared. He hadn't expected her to say that. And he didn't want to lose the cleverest student, Slughorn's favourite, as his Potions partner.

"Right," said Lily. _"You_ don't mind using _me. _You don't mind having the filthy Mudblood's help in Potions when her marks are better than yours. You lot are all the same. People like me are no better than the dirt under your feet until you want something from us. And once you've got it, we go right back to being something you want to scrape off the bottom of your shoe."

"No--not _you--"_

"But don't worry," Lily said over him. "After six years at Hogwarts, I've grown a thick skin. So we'll go on using each other. We'll finish the Veritaserum project together." She turned her back on him and stalked off.

Severus didn't say anything, didn't try to stop her leaving. He'd never again try to stop her leaving him. He'd learned at last that there was nothing he could say or do that would ever make any difference.

---

Now that Severus was no longer wasting his time longing for Lily Evans and trying to think of ways to persuade her to spend more time with him, he could devote more of his attention to the problem of Remus Lupin.

It couldn't have anything to do with Lupin's mother or with lycanthropy, he kept telling himself. Whether she was sick or well, Dark creature or human, Lupin wouldn't travel home to his mother by way of the Whomping Willow. True, in the dark of night under the full moon, while watching the strange procession of Madam Pomfrey and Remus Lupin, he had almost believed that Lupin--but no. If he believed that Lupin was a werewolf, he'd have to believe that Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore and all of Lupin's teachers were in on the secret. They'd have to see nothing wrong with letting a werewolf run loose in a school.

It was impossible. Wasn't it?

Impossible or no, it was maddening. A great deception was being carried out. The wool was being pulled over a lot of people's eyes. And why should it centre around Lupin, of all people? What was so important about him?

Severus decided simply to ask him.

It had to be done properly. He wasn't going to risk being caught at it by Lupin's friends. But Severus knew how to keep an eye on people. For years he'd watched Potter to avoid him and Lily to catch her alone. And so, it did not take long for him to find Lupin alone one afternoon, unsurrounded by Potter's gang, studying under the beech tree by the lake.

Severus came up behind him. "Lupin."

Lupin started and turned. "Severus. Hello." he said, looking warily into Severus's face.

Severus sat down beside him. Ordinarily, he would have remained standing, but he felt quite relaxed, really, with no Potter, Black or Pettigrew around. It seemed more natural to sit.

Lupin eyed him. Severus took his silence as a cue to plunge in. Lupin's friends weren't there at the moment, but they might appear at any time.

"Look," he said. "There's no point in beating about the bush. A week ago, I saw you in the school grounds after dark."

Lupin said nothing. But he did turn slightly paler.

"On the full moon. With Madam Pomfrey. Near the Whomping Willow."

The last of the colour in Lupin's face drained away. "What were you doing on the grounds after dark?" he asked quietly.

"My partner and I were collecting moon-shifting mushrooms for our Potions project. _With_ Professor Slughorn's permission."

"Lily--?" Lupin's voice caught.

"Oh, don't worry. She wasn't with me when I saw you. She still thinks you were at home, tending to your sick mother." An inspiration struck Severus. "She was back at the castle by then, starting work on the..._Veritaserum."_

Lupin stared. His lips quivered for a moment, until he tightened them into a thin line.

"So," said Severus, "what were you and Madam Pomfrey doing at the Whomping Willow?" When Lupin, frozen-faced, didn't answer, he asked, "What are you so afraid of? You were there with the matron. How bad could it be?"

The mention of Madam Pomfrey, who should have been Lupin's ticket to respectability, seemed to frighten him more than ever. "It's-none-of-your-_business!" _he whispered harshly.

It couldn't be...but why, when he'd been with Madam Pomfrey, was Lupin afraid? "Unless _Dumbledore--?" _said Severus slowly.

Lupin leapt to his feet. "I said, it's none of your business, so keep your great greasy nose out of it! Leave me _alone!" _He snapped his book shut and strode off almost at a run, leaving Severus alone to finish his question:

_"Unless Dumbledore doesn't know?"_

---

Severus was on fire. Leaving the beech tree, his head in a whirl, his limbs feeling charged, he strode along the lake. There was still something going on here, the revelation of which must--by the way Lupin was acting, surely _must_--get Lupin and his friends into trouble. But Severus had nowhere else to turn to find out what it was. Even though she was Lupin's friend, even though she had disapproved of Severus's curiosity before, Severus might have tried turning to Lily to help him find out what Lupin was up to.

If, he thought with an uncomfortable twinge, he and Lily weren't the closest thing to enemies.

Dropping that thought, he flitted to the next. It couldn't be that Dumbledore didn't know. But then, why were Lupin and Madam Pomfrey skulking around the grounds after dark, well away from the castle, near a willow that the rest of the school feared? Why had Madam Pomfrey felt the need to Disillusion Lupin and herself, when she didn't seem to suspect Severus was there and no one else was in sight?

But it couldn't be that Dumbledore didn't know. And it couldn't be that the headmaster of Hogwarts was concealing a werewolf at the school. Whatever Lupin was up to had some other connection to the full moon. Or maybe his disappearances at that phase were coincidental?

That was absurdly convoluted. But the simpler reason was incredible, impossible....

Homework, project, even supper forgotten, the sun was sinking toward the horizon before Severus was back inside the school, wandering deserted corridors with his hands thrust in his pockets, still sunk in thought.

---

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The spell yanked Severus's wand from his pocket. He whirled, grasping for it, but, brushing the tips of his fingers, it eluded him. It arched through the air and into the hand of Sirius Black.

Things weren't as dire as they might have been. Black was alone. And though the corridor they were in was deserted, the hallway that crossed it at its opposite end wasn't: the sound of students talking and laughing floated from the hallway into the corridor.

Severus opened his mouth to yell for help. Black flicked his wand, and Severus's tongue, jerking to the roof of his mouth, stuck to his palate as if glued. He could utter nothing but inarticulate grunts. Black grinned, waved his wand again and as if pushed by an invisible giant's hand, Severus stumbled around a corner into a cul-de-sac off the corridor. A third movement of Black's wand hand threw a door open at the end of the cul-de-sac, and the invisible hand shoved Severus through it into a small classroom that, with desks, boxes and empty bookcases lining the walls, looked as though it was being used as a storeroom.

Severus turned to run back out if he could, to grapple with the hand if he must, but Black darted into the classroom, shut and locked the door and traced a spell around the jamb. Then he turned, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door jamb with a mocking smile on his face.

Severus balled his fists and grunted in frustrated rage. Without taking the trouble to unfold his arms, Black gave another flick of his wand. "You can yell now. I put an Imperturbable Charm on the door. Nobody'll hear you."

Severus's tongue was loosed. "Langlock!" he spat. "I invented it! It's _mine!"_

For a moment, Black look surprised. Then he began to laugh.

Severus's knuckles were white, he was clenching his hands so hard. How he longed to put those hands around Black's neck and squeeze. But he hadn't lost sight of the wand Black was twirling between his fingers.

"Where did you get it?" demanded Severus.

"You and your precious curses!" Black spluttered with laughter. "You're such a show-off, Snape. Why do you think your spells are all over the school? I'll tell you why: it's because your magic tricks are the only way you have of proving you're anything more than a shitty little half-blood, as my cousins and my dear brother would put it. I got this one--" he straightened, raised his wand and glued Severus's tongue to the roof of his mouth again "--and this one--" he upended Severus with Levicorpus "--off Reggie."

Hanging in midair, clutching his robes around his midsection, Severus remembered teaching those spells to a common room full of admiring Slytherins, Regulus Black among them. But Regulus hated his brother. He'd never have given those spells to Sirius.

"Stole them, you'd say," said Black. "But Reg is a show-off too. Couldn't wait to try out his new gags on me."

After hearing the incantations, seeing the wandwork and feeling the effects a few times, Sirius Black was clever enough to have learned the spells. And to have taught them to Potter.

So it hadn't been Severus's fault that he'd lost his spells to Potter's gang, it wasn't because he'd yelled the incantations, it wasn't only the blood rushing to his head that made it pound, but rage at Black (did it matter which one?) who'd stolen from him, rage at everyone who stole from people who were better than they were in every way but blood and then mocked them for being victims yet again.

Liberacorpus--another of Severus's spells--coursed through his body and dropped him to the floor with a thud. His tongue popped loose from his palate. With a cry of anger, he leapt to his feet and lunged for Black. He skidded to a stop inches from the wand Black pointed at his chest.

"Missing something, aren't we?" said Black, patting the pocket in which he'd placed Severus's wand.

Severus stared at his wand. Almost of themselves, his hands reached for it.

Black's wand jabbed him in the chest. "What do you say, Snivelly? Think you can grab it before I tie those sticky fingers of yours into knots?"

"Give it to me!"

The wand jabbed harder. "Back off!" snarled Black. Reluctantly, his hands itching in no particular order for his wand and Black's throat, Severus stepped back.

"That's better," said Black. "Now we can talk about why you stalked Remus and Madam Pomfrey to the Whomping Willow."

So _that_ was it: Lupin had lost no time in telling the tale to his friend. Black's eyes were smouldering the way they'd smouldered when he'd returned from the Christmas holiday with curse-wounds on his face. Severus was close to whatever it was Lupin and his friends were hiding. Very close. He just _knew_ it. "What was he doing there, then? And what's it to you and Potter and Pettigrew? Why do you care? What's _wrong_ with him, anyway?"

"There's nothing wrong with Remus. It's you that's got something wrong." Black raised his wand from Severus's chest to Severus's face. "Or will, if you don't lay off. You'll have Remus's friends to answer to if we hear so much as a whisper that you're still harassing him. Your life will be a lot easier once you figure out that what Remus does is his business, not yours."

Black turned to leave, reaching the door with Severus's wand still in his pocket. He lifted his hand to the knob.

"I hope whatever Lupin's up to is harmless," said Severus, as much to stop him as anything else. "That there's no _good_ reason to hide it, that, if it were found out, it wouldn't get him or any of his friends expelled. Because I am going to find out where Lupin goes every month. One more full moon, you know," he added casually, remembering how Lupin had reacted, "and the Veritaserum'll be ready."

Black went still. He stayed still for several seconds. Then, releasing the doorknob, he turned. The smouldering in his eyes had become volcanic. But the corners of his mouth curved upward in the appearance of a smile.

"Do you want to find out where Remus goes every month? Do you want to follow him, find out what he does?"

Severus didn't answer. Was it a trick? Or had he cornered Black at last?

"Oh, yeah. You want it." Black's smile showed teeth. "Here's what you do, then. You ever see that knot at the bottom of the Whomping Willow's trunk? You take a long stick, long enough so you can stay out of the branches' range, and you poke that knot. The tree limbs'll stop waving and the knot opens up into an underground passage. That's where Remus Lupin goes every month on the night of the full moon. You do what I say, and you can follow him."

Still smiling strangely, Black pulled Severus's wand from his pocket and tossed it at him. Then he turned his back--arrogantly, as if he dared Severus to hex him--opened the door and left.


	18. Chapter 18

A BLOODY MESS

June 1976

Severus returned again and again to Black's proposal. Touch a knot on the Whomping Willow's trunk which would open into an underground passageway leading straight to Remus Lupin and his secret? Leading straight into a trap, more likely, sprung by Potter's gang with Lupin as the bait, another game of four-on-one with Severus playing the one.

And yet there was a way to still the Willow's branches--Black was right about that. Severus had seen it for himself on the night of the May full moon, when he had seen Madam Pomfrey approach the Whomping Willow with Remus Lupin.

Madam Pomfrey...whatever she had to do with this, it was not as a player in one of Potter's practical jokes. If she'd brought Lupin to the Willow in May, she most likely had brought him there in the other months. Lupin wouldn't be allowed unsupervised jaunts in the grounds at curfew, any more than any other student. Would Potter's gang dare to lie in wait for Severus when Madam Pomfrey might catch them?

Severus would take the same risk of discovery if he took Black up on his dare. Perhaps Black thought he wouldn't have the nerve. Perhaps he'd tossed out his proposition only so he could taunt Severus when he, after all his curiosity, did the sensible thing and backed down.

But if he didn't back down.... What if he could get something on Potter and Black's friend, on McGonagall and Dumbledore's pet, the pallid and obedient Prefect who let Potter and Black get away with murder? What if he could prove that Lupin's friends were hiding something they shouldn't? What if Severus found something that got Lupin, Black, Potter and Pettigrew expelled? What if he could get rid of his tormentors for good?

Why not give it a try? If Black was lying or setting a trap, he'd find out soon enough. And he had useful friends now, Ruskin, Lestrange and their Slytherin followers. He could make Black pay.

If all else failed, there was always the Veritaserum. Slughorn had left the cauldron of Veritaserum under lock and key in his office throughout the project, and it was there now, undergoing its month of maturation. But he'd never given Severus and Lily (or Lily, anyway) any trouble about handing over the potion whenever they'd needed to work on it, and he'd never hovered while they'd worked.

The Veritaserum would be ready on the twelfth of June, the day after the full moon and a couple of weeks before the end of term. Severus wondered. Could he--just possibly--nick a few drops before he and Lily turned in their sample phials to Slughorn?

It was incredibly dangerous. He might not dare to give the Veritaserum to Lupin even if he did manage to spirit it out of Slughorn's office. Lupin would be the first to suspect why he'd suddenly spilled the secret to Severus which he'd held back for months. Severus would have to Obliviate Lupin very quickly and effectively, or Slughorn would learn of the theft.

What had Slughorn said on the day Severus had chosen Veritaserum for his Potions project?

_"Six months in Azkaban if you do use it illicitly."_

He might have said it to Black, but he'd meant it as a warning to Severus. Not to Lily, though she'd wanted to brew Veritaserum as much as he did. It was Severus whom Slughorn had all but pegged as a Dark wizard.

The Whomping Willow it was, then. Severus would see what he could find there, under the light of the full moon. He wouldn't think again of the Veritaserum unless it was absolutely necessary and absolutely worth the risk.

No need to tell Lupin or Black, of course. With a small, tight smile, Severus savoured the memory of Lupin stammering, of Black freezing when he'd said the word "Veritaserum." No. Let them worry.

---

And thus the long, bright evening of the eleventh of June--the evening of the full moon--found Severus in the near vicinity of the Whomping Willow. About an hour before sunset, he had slipped away from the packs of students enjoying Friday-evening freedom on the lawns and around the lake.

Neither Potter nor any of his friends had been among those taking the air: Severus had taken particular care to look, and when he had arrived at the willow, he had taken particular care to look all around there, too.

His thorough search proved that no one else was at the Whomping Willow. The willow wasn't that far from the Forbidden Forest. Severus soon found a broken tree branch on the ground. He doubted it was long enough to reach past the limbs of the willow at its most aggressive, but he supposed he could Levitate it to touch the knot which opened into the passage to Lupin's secret. If Black hadn't lied to him, and the knot and passage existed.

Severus would soon find out. He took the branch and lay flat in the tall grass of a knoll about half-way between the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow, close enough to watch whatever went on at the willow, far enough to feel confident that the growing dusk would hide him. A peek above the tips of the grass showed him not only the Willow but the grounds to the castle and the greenhouses beyond. He would miss nothing.

He lay in the grass without moving. Usually he kept his gaze fixed on the castle, but occasionally his eyes swept the panorama below him.

The sun dipped toward the mountains, and Severus felt his eyes drawn to the soft lawns near a curve of the forest, where last month moonlight had called forth magical mushrooms in fairy-rings at his and Lily's feet. His chest tightened with an inexplicable pang.

No, not inexplicable. Pointless.

Never mind that, though--was that movement coming from Hogwarts Castle? Severus cautiously parted the grass. The sun was setting: the last of its red-gold rays stretched across the school grounds. The moon was a pale disk above the Forbidden Forest, too pale as yet to send its beams to earth. Two figures made a beeline across the lawns from the castle toward the Whomping Willow: Madam Pomfrey and Remus Lupin.

Severus watched fascinated as they drew near. Neither spoke. Lupin's face was rigid. He had a tense, over-stretched air about him. Madam Pomfrey glanced at him occasionally when he wasn't looking, with uncharacteristic gentleness.

They stopped within a few yards of the willow, though still outside its ken, for its branches didn't wave. Madam Pomfrey glanced around, looking exactly like a mischief-making student ascertaining that the coast was clear. Then, with a flick of her wand, she Disillusioned Lupin and herself. In another moment, the willow's branches began whipping through the air.

Craning his neck, Severus only just stopped himself from standing straight up. Disillusionment wouldn't prevent Lupin and Madam Pomfrey from seeing him. At the same time, he didn't want to miss seeing whatever it was Madam Pomfrey did to still the willow branches.

Another moment passed, and the branches stopped moving. But to his intense disappointment, Severus didn't see what had been done, or indeed whether anything had been done. A breeze might have set the willow off, for all anyone could have seen, and when the breeze had died, the tree had gone quiet.

And the knot that supposedly opened into an underground passage? Severus cautiously raised his head above the grass and peered hard at the willow's trunk. It looked like an ordinary tree trunk. From his vantage point, he saw several knots on the trunk, none of which exactly shouted out to him that it was the entrance to a secret tunnel.

Severus lay flat again. As far as he could tell, Madam Pomfrey was still with Lupin--wherever he was. Severus couldn't move closer to the willow to investigate as long as there was a chance she might pop up at him, out of Disillusionment, the secret passage or wherever else she and Lupin might have gone. He had time, he supposed. Lupin was always gone for at least a day, and Madam Pomfrey couldn't stay with him the whole time, could she? She had to go back to the castle; she had an infirmary to tend to--

Wait, was that her? Severus rose to a crouch. Yes. Madam Pomfrey was climbing out of the Whomping Willow's roots and rather awkwardly at that. As soon as she'd scrambled out, she laid her hand at the base of the trunk. The willow remained still. Breezes riffled the grass around Severus, but not so much as a leaf trembled on the Whomping Willow. Madam Pomfrey ducked beneath the motionless branches and, striding out of the willow's range, headed for Hogwarts Castle.

Severus crept forward as far as he dared. He squinted. There was a small extrusion on the tree trunk where Madam Pomfrey had laid her hand.

The knot. Black had told the truth. Touching the knot at the base of its trunk kept the willow from whomping. That same knot opened into--whatever Madam Pomfrey had just climbed out of.

Severus retreated into the grass and watched Madam Pomfrey until, little more than a speck against the gathering dusk, she melted into the shadows cast by Hogwarts Castle.

Severus raced forward, branch and wand in hand. But he didn't go immediately to the willow. He looked all around, high and low, for Potter, Black and Pettigrew, still fearing that somewhere, somehow, they'd laid another trap.

But they were nowhere to be seen. And no one had come with Madam Pomfrey but Remus Lupin. So, finally, Severus turned to face the Whomping Willow. He Levitated his stick between the drooping branches, and the willow creaked and writhed. His stick touched the knot, and the willow stopped.

The knot melted and flowed, stretching vertically to a thin crack that looked like a pattern of bark. Then the trunk split to the roots along the crack, opening wide upon a passage that descended abruptly into darkness.

Black had told the simple truth. Why, Severus didn't know. But there it was.

Severus walked safely between branches still frozen as if in winter ice. He squeezed himself through the gap in the tree roots and slid downward on his belly until he landed on the floor of a tunnel. Black was still leading him aright.

The tunnel was narrow, with close, encircling walls. Its ceiling was so low that Severus could rise no higher than a crouch, and the fastest way to move was on hands and knees. He crept forward a few feet, then stopped. Had the knot closed again? Was he trapped?

He twisted around and scrabbled back up to the willow roots. He lit his wand and found that the trunk was closed tight. His heart crawled into his throat. But when he touched the trunk, the gap opened. Looking through it, he saw a thin drapery of willow branches and the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts.

Good. If he needed to get out fast, he could.

Severus wriggled back to the tunnel floor and, putting his lit wand between his teeth, crept forward on his hands and knees. Then he heard the keening.

At first he thought his ears were ringing, so he ignored it. As he crawled further, the keening intensified into an animal howling, with an undercurrent of very human-sounding pain.

Severus stopped short. His mind went at once to Black, then to Potter, but neither of them could have produced that keening howl. They couldn't have understood it. The feeling in that howl was too heart-burstingly great, the anger too hot, the pain too deep for _their_ comprehension.

What could be making that sound? Something wild, something trapped and helpless. Severus had never heard anything so fiercely desolate. Though the howling frightened him, he felt almost inaccessibly, in some buried place in his heart, that he couldn't abandon the creature uttering those cries.

Lupin would feel the same way: Severus knew that if he knew Lupin at all. Was he with the creature now?

The howling stopped.

Severus hesitated. His wandlight revealed a bend in the tunnel ahead. He'd just look around it. He crept forward, turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt. Except for his quickening breaths, all remained silent as Severus looked some yards away--he couldn't tell exactly how far--at wandlight reflected back at him by a pair of amber eyes.

Severus snatched his wand from his mouth, raised it and brightened its light with a whispered spell. The light shone on a thewy, coarse-furred body with a canine snout. It gleamed on two rows of knife-sharp teeth and a thread of slaver hanging from the side of a widely-grinning mouth.

Severus had never heard anything like the howls. But he knew this creature which had produced them. He'd seen its image in sensational photographs in the _Daily Prophet_, in woodcuts in dark bestiaries, in the pictures illustrating the werewolf chapters of his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks.

The werewolf lunged.

With a sob of terror, Severus writhed around and crawled as fast as he could toward the tunnel opening. He knew he'd never make it, though. He was dead. No spell he knew would slow the werewolf long enough for him to escape, even if he dared take the time to cast it. No single wizard could stop a werewolf; Aurors always hunted them in pairs.

The werewolf gained on him. Its growl was louder, the scrabbling of its claws closer. Soon he'd feel its hot breath on his heels. Then, the bite.

The werewolf didn't howl. Severus did. He threw his head back, cried aloud in despair--and saw the tip of a Lumos-lit wand directly ahead of him.

"Fucking _shit!" _said a familiar voice, and James Potter half-crawled, half-hurled himself forward. His glasses were slightly askew and his eyes were wild. "Stun him!" he gasped. "With me...we both need to hit him!"

At the same time. Like Aurors. Potter pointed his wand over Severus's shoulder. Severus turned and aimed at snapping, dripping jaws no more than two feet from his heels. With one voice, he and Potter yelled, _"Stupefy!"_

Stunning spells jetted from their wands and joined in one fiery red dart that shot into the werewolf's open mouth to the back of its throat. The doubled spell lifted it off its feet, jerking its head back so that it struck its crown on the tunnel ceiling. Dirt and pebbles loosened by the blow pattered around it as it thudded to the floor.

But two Stunners hadn't knocked the werewolf out. Immediately, incredibly, it twitched. It lifted its head and tried to get to its feet.

Potter grabbed Severus's arm. "Come on, let's _go!" _He dragged Severus at a crouching run, so fast that Severus could hardly get his footing, through the tunnel and up the incline to the roots of the Whomping Willow.

Severus heard a low, panting growl behind them. Gasping, Potter pounded the knot on the trunk with his fist. The trunk burst open. Potter pulled Severus out, thrust him aside, spun around and touched the trunk. The gap closed, the knot re-formed and the tree limbs remained still.

Potter dashed out of the willow's range. Already it was gearing up to strike, so Severus ran after him. "What about Lupin?" he demanded. He disliked Lupin, but not enough to leave him in that tunnel. "The wolf. He's in there--"

"And he won't get out. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout cast enchantments on the Whomping Willow a long time ago to hold him in." Potter pocketed his wand, pushed his glasses up on his nose and stared at Severus with fear in his eyes.

Severus stared back. Comprehension blew through his brain like white-hot fire. The impossible had happened. The incredible was true.

"That wasn't Lupin's mother," he whispered.

"Lupin's _mother! _For Christ's sake!" Potter ran a hand through his dusty hair, so that it stuck out in crazy spikes all around his head. "Look, I can explain--"

"You can explain to me what you are doing here."

"--Sirius didn't mean--"

"So he _did_ tell you."

"I can explain--"

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Potter froze, eyes widening as he watched his wand fly from his pocket.

Severus knew what had happened now, oh, yes, and he was shaking with rage. But that didn't mean he forgot to put Potter's wand into an inner pocket of his robe. He didn't want that wand back in the hand of someone who had nearly got him killed.

"No," said Severus. _"I_ can explain. You, Black and Lupin planned this."

"We _planned--_ no, you've got it all wrong--"

"Shut up!" shouted Severus. The Firewhip shot from his wand, and Potter was damned lucky Severus had some control, that it only struck him in the face. He yelped in pain.

"I've got it exactly right," said Severus. "You masterminded this and you're here to enjoy the show. Lupin's a werewolf, and you and Black knew it. So did Pettigrew; you're all in the same dormitory. Madam Pomfrey locks him in that tunnel every month--why a tunnel? Why not a cellar, a hole in the ground? Where does that tunnel go, anyway?"

Potter looked at him in sullen silence. Severus raised his wand.

"Hogsmeade," said Potter quickly. "The Shrieking Shack."

"Of course," said Severus. "Everybody thinks it's a haunted house because they've heard howling there every month. So when there's a werewolf there--_howling_--everybody stays away." He went on, drawing solid conclusions from the feathery fancies that had floated around in his brain for months. "Madam Pomfrey knows, but she's not the only one. All the teachers know. They must. That's why none of them ever asks why Lupin's absent every month at the full moon."

"That's right!" Potter said belligerently, though his face under the Firewhip's welts was paler than the moonlight shining on him could have made it. "So if you've got any idea of getting Remus expelled--"

"Remus?" Severus said softly. "Only Remus? Why stop at one of you when I can get all of you expelled? You knew I was on Lupin's trail. You sent Black to tell me how to get inside the Whomping Willow. You told Lupin to put himself where the wolf would see me when I got inside."

"I might have known you'd think that. Well, you're dead wrong as usual. I came down here to _stop_ you going in, as soon as Sirius told me what he'd done. Reckon he thought it was a good joke--I don't know what he thought. All I knew was that if you went into that tunnel, you'd come face-to-face with a fully-grown werewolf."

Already cooking up his story for McGonagall and Dumbledore, was he? _Liar. _"You _do_ think I'm a fool, don't you?" Severus jabbed his wand at Potter, who backed off a few steps. "You wanted to scare me into silence. You wanted me to see exactly what you'd let loose on me if I ever spilled Lupin's secret." Severus jabbed again; Potter backed further off. "If I were bitten or killed, what was that to you and Black? You could swear up and down that you knew nothing about it. If Lupin contradicted you, so what? It would be your word against that of a werewolf."

_"_Our word against--what do you take us for? Remus is our friend!"

"You and your _friends!" _snarled Severus. "Where are they, by the way; why aren't they here laughing? Black!" he called. "Pettigrew!"

Potter glanced over his shoulder toward the castle.

"Yes! I'm right, _aren't_ I, Potter? You expect your audience at any moment. Well, let me tell you something. You're all finished here. All four of you. And if Dumbledore doesn't want to expel his Gryffindor pets, I'll see to it the whole school finds out Pomfrey is covering up for Lupin."

Potter jerked around. "No," he said softly, "it's not Remus's fault."

With a shock of delight, Severus realised he was pleading. "Oh, yes, it is." He didn't try to keep the glee out of his voice. "The dirty werewolf prefect's toadied to you one too many times. Just wait until the parents find out Dumbledore's let a werewolf into Hogwarts. Just wait till they find out the werewolf's friends practically fed him a student. You won't be back next year, Potter. None of you will be back."

Potter's expression went from fear to fury. Clenching his fists, he took a step toward Severus. But before Severus raised his wand, he stopped. His face went quiet and his eyes cold. He let his hands drop to his sides.

"All right, then, Snivelly. All right. Maybe you can get Remus expelled for doing what werewolves do, which is chase the stupid gits that get in their way. But you can't get Peter expelled because he never knew a thing about Sirius's plans. And if you think Sirius's dad and my dad are going to let Dumbledore take the word of a greasy little jumped-up half-blood over ours, you'd better think again."

Oh, that was where pampered Potter had it all wrong. Severus sneered at him. "You're the one who'd better think again. Black's father couldn't care less about him. Or you. He won't play along."

"See, Snape, that's all a bloody climbing little wanker like you knows." A smile spread across Potter's face, but didn't reach his eyes. "Doesn't matter that Sirius's father doesn't like him. All that matters to him is that some grimy little nobody with a Muggle mill worker for a father is trying to get _his _son thrown out of the school the Blacks have attended for generations."

Severus stared at him. Potter's parents loved him. Black's did not. In every other respect, they inhabited the same world, unimaginably far from Severus's world. Potter knew his way around that world as Severus never could.

"Yeah," said Potter softly. "Yeah. Now you're getting it. It's not going to be so easy to force Sirius and me out of Hogwarts. And if we're still here after you've got Remus Lupin expelled, Sirius and I are going to make every minute of your seventh year at Hogwarts a living hell. I promise you that."

"You wouldn't dare," whispered Severus.

"You think so? Why? You didn't think I'd stick at handing you over to a werewolf. Why do you think I'd let you get Remus expelled and probably sent to Azkaban? Why do you think Dumbledore will let you ruin Remus's life, when it's he who personally invited Remus to attend Hogwarts? Why do you think you can do _any_ of it when it's _my_ dad, not _yours, _who's Dumbledore's friend?"

Severus could hardly breathe. But, looking into Potter's flushed face, he could think. He might be lying in that tunnel now, mauled, made into a werewolf, perhaps dead, while Potter helped Black work out how they would use their families' influence to escape the consequences of what they'd done. Potter, who had everything--blood, wealth, looks, love--and deserved nothing.

"You think you'll get away with this--" Severus choked. He took a deep, harsh breath. "That's all my life is worth to you, isn't it? I'm no more than a piece of rubbish to be kicked out of your path. I think you need to learn what a werewolf attack is like. I think you need to _feel_ what it's like to be torn to bloody rags."

Severus raised his wand and loosed his hate. It raced through the veins of his arm, a dark fire burning to the tips of his fingers, inflaming his wand.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

The spell sliced across Potter's abdomen, chest and jaw. He screamed as it threw him to the ground. Blood fountained from him as it never had from Ruskin's hedgehog. In moments it had soaked his robe and flowed in ever-growing rivulets on to the grass. His breath came in choking gasps, and before Severus's eyes his face went from red to parchment-white. Then it greyed, and Potter's eyes rolled back in his head.

Severus heard the pounding of running feet. But, gaping at Potter, he couldn't turn. He couldn't even move.

The pounding came closer. Then, _"Jesus!"_ gasped Sirius Black.

_"James!" _cried Peter Pettigrew. Hurtling forward, he cast himself on his knees beside Potter and tried to stanch the flow of Potter's blood with the hem of his robe. Red leaked into black, and soon Pettigrew's hem was soaked. But Potter's bleeding did not slow.

Black yanked Severus around and pointed his wand at Severus's throat. "You filthy murderer! What have you done to him!"

Severus half-raised his wand, but Black could have cursed him into oblivion, for his brain couldn't cobble together a defensive spell. "I've never seen it like this," he babbled, "I don't know how to counter it, you've got to go for Pomfrey!"

"If you think I'm leaving Peter alone to defend James from you--"

"Stay, then!" shouted Severus. "I'll go! Unless you want him to bleed to death!"

"Bleed to death?" said Black softly. "Oh, Snape. He had better not bleed to death."

"Let him go, Sirius!" yelled Pettigrew. The blood had spread well beyond the hem of his robe. "Snape, just go!"

Severus backed away from the wand at his throat. Nothing happened. He turned and ran.

---

Under the cold light of the full moon Severus ran, until he was gulping air into his lungs in whoops, like a man just saved from drowning. He ran up the stone steps into the castle, up the marble staircase, down corridors and through the double doors of the hospital wing. He ran through the bed-filled ward, past its only patient, a small girl fast asleep, with what looked like sparrow's wings for ears.

Severus slid to a stop in front of Madam Pomfrey's office door and raised his fist. But before he banged on the door, it opened and Madam Pomfrey glared out.

_"What_ in Merlin's name--"

"It's Remus Lupin!" gasped Severus.

For a moment, Madam Pomfrey looked utterly shocked. She glanced toward the sleeping girl, then said in a low voice, "Get in here."

Severus entered, and Madam Pomfrey shut the office door. "What about Lupin?"

"It's not about Lupin, I mean, it is partly, but I hit Potter with Sectumsempra and I can't make him stop bleeding!"

"What do you mean, you can't make him stop bleeding?"

"I--we--we got into a fight at the Whomping Willow. I hit him with this spell I invented--he's bleeding, and I don't know--I can't make it stop!"

Madam Pomfrey's eyes grew hard, but she said nothing. She went to the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo powder. The emerald flames reared up, and Professor Dumbledore's night-capped head appeared in the grate.

"Poppy." Dumbledore's head swivelled on the edge of a log and his eyebrows went up slightly. "And Severus. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's no pleasure," said Madam Pomfrey shortly. "I need you to meet me at the Whomping Willow. There's been an accident. James Potter is hurt."

Still looking at Severus, Dumbledore did not answer at once. "Is Severus coming with you?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes."

"Very good. I'll see you there." Before Severus could object, Dumbledore's head vanished and the flames went out.

He objected to Madam Pomfrey instead. "But I don't know what to do! I don't know how to counter the spell!" Though he supposed his only alternative was to go back to Slytherin House, curl up in his bed and wait to be expelled, he did not want to return to Potter, to see again what he'd done.

Madam Pomfrey ignored him. Rummaging in a closet, she took out two brooms and tossed one to him. "Come on. The Headmaster's waiting."

---

When Severus and Madam Pomfrey landed on the lawn before the Whomping Willow, Professor Dumbledore was indeed there, kneeling beside Potter. Black and Pettigrew stood nearby, round-eyed and silent. The blood no longer flooded from Potter's body, and he lay so pale and still that he looked dead. But would Dumbledore pass his wand so assiduously over a corpse?

Peering around Madam Pomfrey, Severus saw blood still oozing from Potter's wounds. Dumbledore's brow was corrugated with worry, and no wonder: the gash tracking across Potter's torso looked all the uglier, now that the flow of blood no longer covered it.

Dumbledore looked up. His brow smoothed, but his face looked very drawn. "Ah, there you are, Poppy. I've already called St Mungo's. They're sending a coach. I've slowed the bleeding, but I'm afraid I can't stop it." He stood up. "Severus?"

Madam Pomfrey stepped aside. "Here he is."

Dumbledore looked at him steadily. "I've spoken to Mr Black and Mr Pettigrew. This spell is your work?"

Severus wanted to look away, but Dumbledore's eyes held him. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

Dumbledore gazed at him for several more long moments. "This is the Darkest curse I have seen cast at Hogwarts in a very long time." Finally he looked away, and he and Madam Pomfrey studied the sky, watching for the appearance of the St Mungo's coach.

Severus did not watch with them, though the wait seemed to last forever. He fixed his eyes on a patch of grass untouched by Potter's blood.

"Here it comes," said Dumbledore.

Looking up, Severus saw the St Mungo's coach sail over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and swoop to the ground. It looked like an old-fashioned Muggle horse-drawn ambulance, except that no horses drew it. It was lime-green, with the hospital insignia of a wand crossing a bone painted in glowing silver on its side. Mediwizards bustled from the rear of the coach, carrying potions-beakers, poultices and a stretcher. Madam Pomfrey joined them, and they bent over Potter, pouring potions down his throat, applying poultices to his wounds and murmuring spells.

Severus could not tell whether any of it was working. Neither, by the stricken looks on their faces, could Black and Pettigrew.

"Peter. Sirius," said Dumbledore. They looked at him. "It's late. You'd better go back to Gryffindor Tower and your beds."

"Our _beds!"_ said Black. He cocked his head defiantly at Severus. "And what about _him?"_

"Severus is my affair, Sirius, not yours," said Dumbledore quietly.

Black clenched his fists, clearly infuriated. Then he looked at Potter. The mediwizards were Levitating him on the stretcher toward the rear doors of the coach. He was wrapped in blankets to his chin. His eyes were closed. His dishevelled hair looked very dark against the pillow and around his face. His glasses had been removed. Somehow, that made him look even weaker.

Grief drove the fury from Black's face. His eyes glistened. Pettigrew, also staring at Potter, seemed stupefied with terror.

"The very best that can be done for him will be done," said Dumbledore. "Now please go."

The mediwizards Levitated Potter into the coach. All but one of them followed him inside and closed the doors. Reluctantly Black and Pettigrew dragged their eyes away from the coach and walked slowly toward the castle. After a final, low-voiced conference with the remaining mediwizard, Madam Pomfrey left too.

The mediwizard mounted to the driver's seat. Professor Dumbledore opened the passenger door. "Please get in, Severus."

Severus could hear the mediwizards inside, working on Potter. He did not want to get any closer to those sounds. "Why?"

"Because James Potter cannot be healed without your help." Dumbledore glanced toward the mediwizards' sounds. "In fact, I will hazard a guess that, unless you help him, he will die."

Severus looked at his calm face. It was nearly as pale as Potter's. He didn't question the astounding claim that Dumbledore had just made. He walked past the Headmaster and climbed into the passenger seat of the St Mungo's coach. Dumbledore got in beside him and closed the door. The driver spoke a word and the coach lifted off from the ground into the star-strewn sky, toward the silvery full moon.


	19. Chapter 19

SNAPE'S END

Winter 1980

Severus was in the Potions and Physics Department, casting a Standard Stabiliser over a cauldron of Eyebright Wash, when a green flash lit the walls of the room. He turned to see the emerald flames of a Floo call leaping in the fireplace.

A female head took form in the grate, and for a second Severus thought of Lily Potter. Was she calling from A&E with a potions order? Had she returned from medical leave; was everything back to normal?

No. With a brief pang of disappointment, Severus saw that his caller was Apothecary Morgan. She looked both sombre and uncomfortable.

"I've just received a call from Narcissa Malfoy." That, perhaps, was the source of Apothecary Morgan's discomfort--she had still not accustomed herself to the fact that Severus was living with the Malfoys. "She'd like you to return to the Manor. She says your mother needs you."

"My mother?"

"Of course you'll go. I'll be down to the department in a few minutes to cover the rest of your shift."

"Is she ill?"

"Madam Malfoy didn't say. I'll be right there, Severus."

Apothecary Morgan's head disappeared, and the flames turned from green to yellow. A lump swelled in Severus's throat. He swallowed hard against it. What had happened that Narcissa Malfoy did not want to reveal to Apothecary Morgan? Or in protecting Mother's privacy was she simply employing a bit of pure-blood discretion?

Apothecary Morgan arrived. Severus gave her a quick, distracted report, then went to the hospital lobby and Flooed to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa and Mother were there. Narcissa sat in a chair near the hearth, but although other chairs around the room were empty, Mother stood. Beside her, wearing an Auror's sash and badge, was Rufus Scrimgeour.

Narcissa rose when Severus stepped from the fireplace. She kept her eyes on Mother, looking at her with a strange mixture of tension and concern. Mother's face was pale and blankly composed.

"I'll let you carry on from here, Auror Scrimgeour," said Narcissa. "Severus. Eileen." She quietly withdrew, leaving Severus and his mother alone with Scrimgeour.

"Would you like to tell him, Mrs Snape?" Scrimgeour asked. "Or shall I?"

Mother looked at him, but said nothing.

"I'll do it," said Scrimgeour. "Mr Snape. I'm sorry to have to tell you that your father has been murdered."

Now Severus looked at him too.

"I'm very sorry," said Scrimgeour.

"How?" asked Severus softly.

"A fight in a pub in King's Cross, not far from his rooming-house in Grimmauld Place. He was drinking and playing cards with a friend of his, one Will Paxton. Paxton accused him of cheating; your father grew angry. They started with fists. Then Paxton drew a knife and stabbed your father to death."

"Stabbed...in a Muggle pub?"

"Yes."

"How did you find out? Didn't they call the police?"

"Yes, they did, and if it had remained a fistfight, that's where it would have ended. But when a Muggle with ties to the wizarding world meets a violent end, especially in these times.... Well, we take an interest, you understand."

"'We?'" said Severus.

"The Auror Office."

"The Auror Office? Why? From what you've said, it doesn't seem as though Dark magic was involved."

"No, it doesn't seem so," said Scrimgeour. "But there's always the possibility, isn't there, when a Muggle murder victim has wizarding connections? After all, Paxton appears to have been a close friend of Mr Snape's."

"My husband had boon companions, not close friends," said Mother, so clearly and calmly that she startled Severus. "Tobias would have quarrelled with anyone when he was drunk."

"And he certainly was drunk," said Scrimgeour. "The witnesses attest to that." His voice took on a soothing note. "The case does look pretty much cut and dried, Mrs Snape. But one has to go through the motions, you know, adhere to the proper routine. Your wands, for instance. They haven't been out of your possession for the past twenty-four hours?"

Both Severus and his mother said that they had not.

"You'll allow me to examine them?" asked Scrimgeour. "Purely an investigative routine, of course."

"Er--of course," said Severus, who hadn't the foggiest idea what the proper investigative routine might be. But it sounded reasonable enough. Mother nodded silently, and they handed their wands to Scrimgeour. He touched the tip of his wand to each of theirs in turn and drew out the ghosts of ordinary spells: grooming and tidying spells from Mother's wand and, from Severus's, the compounding and stabilising charms he had used on his potions that morning.

"Well, well, not too sinister, eh?" said Scrimgeour. He dissipated the spell-ghosts and returned the wands. Then he said delicately, "Might I ask which of you would prefer to identify the body?"

"I will," said Severus quickly.

Scrimgeour nodded. "Good."

---

After taking Severus's measure with a quick and apparently practised eye, Scrimgeour conjured Muggle outfits for them both. They donned the Muggle clothing and Flooed to the public stop nearest the morgue.

"Wouldn't do to Apparate," said Scrimgeour when they stepped out of the fireplace at the Floo stop. "The morgue's a busy place. Someone would surely notice a couple of wizards popping in."

Severus didn't answer. How many times had he dreamed his father dead? Now that it had happened, now that the realisation kept striking him anew--_he's gone, he's dead--_he was shaken to the core. And he hadn't expected to be shaken. He had expected to be glad.

They left the Floo stop, a small brick building with a sign in the window which said _Office to let,_ and walked down the damp, misty street.

"You needn't worry about your mother, you know," said Scrimgeour.

"She didn't need to do this," said Severus. "I can identify Tobias's body."

"Very gallant of you to step up to the task, though it can't be any easier for a son than it is for a wife."

Scrimgeour waited, but Severus had no answer for him. "That's only partly what I meant, though," Scrimgeour went on. "You needn't worry about your mother or yourself. Paxton killed your father at around eleven last night, just before the pub's closing time. You and your mother were in bed at the Malfoys.' Both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy attest to that. So there was no chance of Polyjuice or the Imperius Curse or other such goings-on: not from your end, anyway. Accusations, a row, Paxton pulled a knife. That was it."

"If the Malfoys had already told you my mother and I were asleep in their house at the time of the murder, then you needn't have gone to the trouble of examining our wands," said Severus. "Unless you didn't believe the Malfoys."

Scrimgeour shrugged. "Just a matter of routine."

Severus didn't answer. Ordinarily, Scrimgeour would have angered him by now. But the knowledge that he would soon see Tobias's dead body had reduced Scrimgeour to insignificance.

---

The display of Scrimgeour's identification at the door, to a quiet man who introduced himself as Detective Inspector Shaw, gained Severus and Scrimgeour entrance into the morgue.

"Good of you to give us a hand in the case, Rufus," said Shaw as he led them down a chilly and featureless institutional corridor. "Our Wizarding Liaison chap was immensely relieved when I told him that none of your people were involved this time."

Scrimgeour nodded toward Severus. "Except as relatives of the victim."

"Oh, ah--yes. Allow me to offer my condolences, Mr Snape."

"Thank you," Severus replied mechanically.

They entered a room so cold that Severus could see his breath. Shaw headed toward a row of cabinets lining one wall of the room. "Right this way, Mr Snape."

Nobody had invited Scrimgeour, but he followed too. Let him. Severus was innocent, far more innocent than he had been the last time he and Scrimgeour had talked.

The cabinets weren't cabinets, but drawers, Severus saw when Shaw pulled one open.

No one spoke: neither Shaw nor Scrimgeour, who watched Severus, nor Severus, who looked at his father.

He should have felt something, perhaps. He should have been glad that Tobias would never mock him or torment Mother again, glad that he would never again hear that drunken voice bellowing or singing past midnight. He should have been relieved that calls from Mother, mournful and desperate, would never again distract him at work. He should have been revolted by the mottled face, the stubbled chin, the dried spittle at the corner of Tobias's blue-lipped mouth, the dark blood clotted at his chest.

Perhaps he should have felt pity. Tobias seemed smaller somehow, shrivelled-up, less in death than he'd been in life.

But he felt nothing. Nothing occurred to him but the awareness that a normal man would have wept to see his father like this.

"Mr Snape?" Shaw urged gently.

"That's him," muttered Severus. He turned away, and there was Scrimgeour, facing him, looking into his eyes. Was he trying Legilimency again, as he'd done at St Mungo's? Severus felt a spurt of anger, but none of the telltale pressure against his forehead. His anger faded in the next moment, for Scrimgeour's eyes wielded none of their usual keen edge. He looked almost sympathetic.

"No need to trouble you further, then, Mr Snape," said Scrimgeour. "As long as we can reach you at the Malfoys' if needed?"

"Yes."

"And if you change your address, you'll be sure to let us know?"

Scrimgeour didn't let you feel charitable toward him for long. "Of course," said Severus irritably.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful. Would you like me to accompany you--"

"No," said Severus. "I can find my own way home."

---

When he arrived at the Malfoys' house, Severus looked immediately for his mother. He found her sitting next to Narcissa Malfoy on the drawing-room sofa. Narcissa was holding Mother's hands. Her eyes, fixed on Mother's face, were kind yet intent.

Narcissa rose when Severus entered, came to him and did something she had never done before. She took his hand and looked into his eyes. "I'm very sorry," she said.

Severus stiffened and looked away before he realised that, like Shaw and Scrimgeour, she was simply offering her condolences. "Thank you," he muttered, embarrassed.

"I'll give you and your mother some privacy."

Mother still sat after Narcissa had left, looking down at the hands Narcissa had just released. Seeing her calm face, Severus didn't know what he felt, whether he felt. What he had left behind at the morgue had drained him dry.

Then he realised that he had left it behind. Tobias Snape was dead. He and his mother were free.

Mother looked up. "Severus."

"I've just come from the morgue. It's--it is Father." For the first time in years, Severus called him Father. "He's dead."

"Oh, yes, of course. I know that." Mother's eyes held neither grief nor glee, but amazement. She took her wand out of her pocket. "Watch."

Severus watched. Mother pointed her wand at a vase on a side-table which held a couple of dried pussy willow branches. In a few moments, the brown willow stems turned green and sprouted leaves. The silvery catkins swelled into buds, which then unfurled into brilliant pink blooms. Sprays of tiny white flowers sprang up from the bottom of the vase and curled gracefully over the sides. The wintry willow sprigs were transformed into a spring bouquet of roses and baby's breath.

Severus went to the bouquet and examined it. Each rose bloom was perfect, as if sculpted in stone, yet the rose petals when he touched them felt soft, silken, real. The rose leaves were glossy and veined, the thorns sharp. Each tiny flower and diminutive leaf of baby's breath was so perfectly detailed that, like the roses, it seemed created by nature, not magic.

Mother had not performed such a complex and unerring Transfiguration since Severus had started at Hogwarts.

He turned. Mother's face was transfigured too, with quiet joy. "My magic's returned," she said. "It will never leave me again."

Severus couldn't speak. He could only think, only remember.

_"Tell the truth, Severus: what do you really want?"_

_"Freedom. Freedom from Tobias Snape.... Freedom from my father for my mother and me."_

They were free.

"Auror Scrimgeour called just before you arrived," said Mother. "He said the morgue needed the name of an undertaker to whom they could release Tobias's body."

"I can--"

"But you don't have to. I've taken care of everything. I know what your father wanted: to be buried in the churchyard at home with the rest of his family. I was his wife, after all."

"Oh, er--yes."

Mother stood up. With a wave of her wand, she turned the flower bouquet back into pussy willow branches. She slipped her wand into the folds of her robe and turned toward the door. "It's odd, though," she said. "I told Auror Scrimgeour Tobias would have quarrelled with anybody, because he would. But I never did know him to row with Will Paxton. And never, in all the years I knew him, did anybody ever accuse your father of cheating at cards."

She didn't wait for Severus's answer. Closing the door softly behind her, she left him alone in the Malfoys' drawing-room.


	20. Chapter 20

THE ST MUNGO'S COACH

June 1976

Severus couldn't decide whether sitting in the passenger seat of the St Mungo's coach was more like sitting in a jail cell or the centre of a sprung trap. Nothing but a thin partition with an iron grille in the middle separated him from the back of the coach, whence came the sounds he wanted to escape: the sounds of the mediwizards working on the unconscious James Potter.

"Pass some more of that Blood-Replenisher, would you, Ned? Then a bit of a Carmenoris--you don't want him choking.... There you go, young fellow, down the hatch."

And nothing but a couple of feet of clear and empty air separated Severus from a sight nearly as frightening as those sounds: Professor Dumbledore, sitting stiff-faced and silent, staring into space.

Presently, without turning, Dumbledore touched the tip of his wand to the grille. The mediwizards went silent, as if a blanket of cotton wool had dropped over the opening.

An Imperturbable Charm, Severus supposed. But Professor Dumbledore did not say so. He remained silent and looked as troubled as ever.

Severus looked away from him, out of the coach window. It should have been one of the most amazing things that had ever happened to him, to be riding so high that the stars studding the black sky seemed to surround him, beneath a moon so huge and bright it looked close enough to touch.

Severus might have put his hand out of the window, to feel the wind, to see if he really could touch the moon, if Potter hadn't been lying behind him, beyond the partition, doomed to death, perhaps, by his hand. As it was, he didn't have the heart. As it was, he felt his eyes dragged from the sky, back into the coach, back to Dumbledore, who, so far, had made not the least effort to explain what they would do when they arrived at St Mungo's.

"Er--Professor?"

Dumbledore blinked as if waking, then turned his head. "Yes, Severus?"

"You said I'd have to help heal James Potter."

"Yes. You will."

"But--how? I'm no Healer." For the first time since Professor Dumbledore had cast the Imperturbable Charm, Severus glanced toward the grille--and saw that it was gone. The partition had closed over it, so that a smooth wall now separated the passenger seat from the rear of the coach.

"No, you're not. And even the mediwizards aren't having an easy time of it," said Dumbledore, as if he'd read the meaning of Severus's glance. He sighed. "This is even worse than the Firewhip."

Severus's stomach did a slow turn.

"Yes, I know about that. That's why I asked Madam Pomfrey to notify me immediately if you ever cast so injurious a curse again. Which she has done, because you have done."

It was very hard to look away from Professor Dumbledore's eyes. Finally, after squirming a bit, Severus managed it, looking instead at his hands knotted in his lap.

"I understand that you invented the spell you cast on Mr Pettigrew." Dumbledore's voice sounded over Severus's bowed head. "Did you invent the spell you cast on Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a silence. Severus kept his eyes down.

"I was afraid of that," sighed Dumbledore. "A brilliantly Dark achievement, to be sure. One of the most devastating curses I have ever seen cast at Hogwarts. I can't say congratulations are in order, however."

He paused again, and if he meant to disconcert Severus by doing so, he succeeded. "What is the incantation for this--ah, creation of yours?"

"Sectumsempra."

"Sectumsempra. Very apt. I take it you have not yet devised a counter-curse to Sectumsempra?"

Severus jerked his head up angrily. "I'd have used it if I had!"

"Precisely. And there you have the answer to your question. You will help heal James Potter by formulating the counter-curse to Sectumsempra and casting it upon him."

"But I can't! I've been working on it all year!"

Dumbledore shifted in his seat to turn his gaze fully upon Severus. "You must find a way. Or I shall have to expel you from Hogwarts."

Expel _him! _His heart pounding in his chest, his blood pounding in his brain, Severus felt as though he would explode from the injustice of it all. "This isn't my fault!" he shouted. "You're the one who invited a werewolf into the school! You're the one who put him into a House and a dormitory full of troublemakers, who've only made him more dangerous! You're the one who made him into a prefect who lets his friends get away with everything!"

Severus had leaned into Dumbledore's face until their noses were inches apart. Dumbledore blinked and drew back.

"If it isn't your fault, it isn't Remus's, either. He deserves schooling as much as any other wizard. He didn't ask to become a werewolf--"

"You sound just like them; you're a Gryffindor and they're your Gryffindor favourites! Do you _know_ what Black and Potter did? They put me in Lupin's path while he was transformed! He knew it too, he played along, he goes along with everything they do to keep them liking him!"

"Please control yourself." Dumbledore spoke calmly, but there was something in his eyes and voice that silenced Severus immediately. "I had the entire story from Sirius before you and Madam Pomfrey arrived."

"He told you _his_ side."

"Have you anything to add, then?"

Severus poured out his tale in a rush, beneath Professor Dumbledore's calmly unchanging gaze. "Thank you," said Dumbledore when he was finished. "That concurs exactly with what Mr Black told me."

"All three of them planned it--!"

"You don't know that. You never knew it."

Severus was silent a moment, breathing hard, gathering the shreds of his self-control. "Sirius Black told me how to follow Remus Lupin into that tunnel when he knew I'd face a transformed werewolf once I got inside. I could have been bitten, made into a werewolf myself. I could have been killed. What are you going to do about that?"

"Sirius will face consequences for what he has done. As you will face consequences for very possibly killing James Potter."

That brought Severus up short. An image flashed through his mind, of Potter's grey face, the seemingly endless flow of his blood.

For once, Severus had equalled Potter and Black. No. Not equalled. He'd done worse. It was Potter, not he, who lay dying in the back of the St Mungo's coach.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered. Then, in a louder voice: "I _want_ to counter the curse, but I don't know how!"

Dumbledore leaned back. Fresh heat surged into Severus's cheeks as he realised he was still too aggressively close to his headmaster. He slid quickly over to the coach window, then back until his spine was ramrod-straight against the back of the passenger seat.

"That is why we are going to St Mungo's," Dumbledore answered. "There are people there who can help--well, who can help both of us. Healer-Legilimentes, experts in the workings of magic upon the mind. You see, Severus, as you'll learn in Magical Theory when--" here he gave Severus a keen glance over the tops of his spectacles "--or if you return for your seventh year, some spells affect the caster as much as they affect their object, although in different ways. Complex spells of healing or artistic creation can hone the soul of the wizard who casts them to such a capacity and brilliance that, if he practises the magic often and skilfully enough, his power in that magic and the strength of his soul will both be unmatched. The indulgence in similarly powerful but dark and destructive magic will have the opposite effect: if it is practised long and deeply enough, it will, perhaps, damage the practitioner's soul beyond repair." Dumbledore paused, then added, "And if he's the one who invented the spell to boot..."

What was all that supposed to mean? "What are they going to do to me?" Severus demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

Had he forgotten what they were talking about? "The Healer-Legilimentes. What are they going to do?"

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Well, what they need to do is establish your state of mind, first when you created Sectumsempra and later when you cast it on James Potter. So they will examine your memories by removing some to a Pensieve and observing them and by sifting through others in your mind. Knowing your state of mind will serve to inform the Healers' analysis of your intent at the time you invented and later cast the spell. Thus they will discern the essence of the spell, as opposed to its outward manifestations, and the level of Darkness of the magic you used to create it."

That," Dumbledore went on, "describes the discovery of the emotional component of Sectumsempra. There is, of course, an intellectual component. The Healers will ask you to break down your thought processes as you were creating Sectumsempra into concrete steps, so that they can analyse each one. They--and you--will try to rebuild the curse into a sort of mirror of itself--a counter-curse. But you are Sectumsempra's creator, Severus, and no outsider, not even the most skilled Legilimens, can completely know your mind. You must work closely and cooperatively with the Healers every step of the way."

Dumbledore stopped to gaze at Severus for several long moments. "And none of it--neither the raking-through of your mind nor the breaking-down and rebuilding of Sectumsempra into its counter-curse--will be easy or painless, I'm afraid. Especially for you. That will be the first of the consequences you'll face."

"The first?" said Severus. "There'll be more?"

"Of course. If you fail, there will be expulsion and Azkaban."

_"Azkaban?"_

"Why, yes. If you fail, James Potter will die. You will have killed him. You can't escape judgement for that."

Severus stared at Dumbledore in sick dismay. "And--and if I succeed?" he asked finally.

"Let us see how you succeed. Then I shall know what to do next."

Severus stared a moment longer. Then he turned away from the headmaster and looked out of the coach window. He did not look back, even when the lights of London spread below him like a glittering carpet and the gentle descent of the coach began to fill him with the fear of what lay in wait for him at St Mungo's Hospital.


	21. Chapter 21

PERSUASION

Winter, 1980

A normal man would have grieved at his father's funeral. But Severus, when he helped the hired pallbearers lower Tobias into the ground, as he watched the sexton throw dirt over the pine box which held all that remained of his father, felt nothing but a tightness in his soul, like the puckering and tightening of skin when a scar is formed.

_But then, I'm not normal._

It became a reassuring thought, for, as time passed, Severus found himself growing happy. That couldn't be normal, so soon after your father had died, but Severus neither could nor wanted to prevent it. For one thing, Mother had become amazing, and he wanted her to stay that way. She had handled all the arrangements for Tobias's funeral herself, including luncheon for the few wizened and suspicious Snape relatives who had attended. In return for the salad and cold meat, they looked at Mother as if they thought she had killed him with some wicked cantrip or other.

But if spells had been cast, it wasn't Mother who had done them.

Not on Tobias, at least. But in every other magic, in spells having to do with every other aspect of life, Mother excelled. Was it because her happiness grew with Severus's? She had wept at Tobias's graveside, perhaps because the chance for her to have with Tobias what a wife ought to have with her husband was gone forever. But the grief did not seem to be enough to overshadow her delight in the return of her magic. Or, not merely the return of her magic, for it had begun returning before Tobias's death, but at its powerful resurgence. It was as if with Tobias's death a pall had lifted from her, like winter mists blown away on a spring wind.

The Malfoys noticed too. Of course they had noticed the initial, fragmentary return of Mother's magic, beginning when, having arrived at the Manor, she had begun to feel safe. But as far as Severus had seen, it hadn't astonished them until after Tobias's death.

Lucius never tried to hide it. He would stare in frank surprise at Mother painting a watercolour of what she saw outside the conservatory window (which surprised Severus too, for he'd never known his mother could paint), his surprise growing into open-mouthed amazement when Mother, tapping the finished painting with her wand, brought it to branch-waving, bird-fluttering life. He would grumble in rueful astonishment at the gobstones board when his pieces fell before Mother's onslaught, bursting one after another with the fetid fluid that Lucius didn't always manage to disperse with his wand before it struck him in the chest. (That didn't so much surprise Severus, for as a child he had discovered age-yellowed citations at home for prizes Mother had won as a member and the captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.)

"Would it be too presumptuously familiar, Mrs Snape," Lucius said after one of their gobstones games, "to tell you that you are a changed woman?"

"Not at all," said Mother. But she said no more of her change beyond acknowledging that she had changed.

Lucius did not pursue it. Looking at her, he said nothing further.

Narcissa didn't speak of it at all, at least not in Severus's hearing. Though she rarely spoke to Severus except to reiterate her condolences, he often saw her looking from Lucius to Mother and back again with a wondering expression in her eyes.

It was not a look of surprise. Unlike Lucius, she did not seem surprised, exactly, by Mother's change. But then, Severus expected, it would not occupy her mind. The rounding of her belly was unmistakable now, even under loosened robes, and she gave much more of her attention to appointments with her midwife and the preparations of her baby's nursery than she gave to Severus and his mother.

So Severus was left alone to ponder the appearance of this new Mother. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. She wasn't completely new. He remembered one like her, when he was four or five years old, before he had gone to his primary school, one who smiled on him when Tobias was at the mill (he'd worked quite regularly then), who brought his stuffed animals to life with a touch of her wand, who took him to the asphalt playground near their house, where she pushed him so high in the swing that he thought he'd join the birds in flight.

As baffled as he was, Severus did not press his mother. For one thing, she seemed less inclined to confide in him than she had been before. For another (and there was another, Severus admitted to himself at last), was not the reason for her change something which neither Severus nor his mother might wish to discuss, even in secret? Had not freedom changed her? And had not freedom come to them both through Tobias's violent death?

---

They spoke instead of money matters, which turned out to be as astonishing as everything else surrounding Tobias's death.

Tobias had had no solicitors, and precious little paper, as Severus and his mother discovered after scouring his room in Grimmauld Place and the house in Spinner's End. There was nothing but an insurance policy, which paid out just enough to cover Tobias's funeral expenses.

"I'm surprised he remembered to pay the premiums," said Mother. "I wonder if we've missed something?"

Some debt, she doubtless meant. A trace of the old anxiety had returned to her voice and eyes. The fear of its complete return sent Severus to Lucius, as nothing else could have done.

"Oh, certainly!" said Lucius. "One wants no surprises. Let me put Father's solicitors on the hunt. If your father left any debts, even private ones, Wandless and Wandless will uncover them."

Lucius returned a few days later with his report. "There's nothing but a mortgage on your family's house in Yorkshire, and Mr Wandless tells me you've been commendably prompt in fulfilling the monthly obligation."

He said it with some surprise, but it couldn't have been more surprise than Severus felt.

---

Severus and his mother went one last time to the house in Spinner's End, to clear out everything of Tobias's, so that they could sell it or give it to charity, and to clear it of Mother's belongings, so that she could use them to furnish the flat she wanted to find in the city.

"In a wizarding close or lane," she said. "Though not Linden Lane," she added quickly. Perhaps the apprehension Severus felt on that score had shown in his face. "Within easy Flooing and Apparating distance of Druella Black's house and Malfoy Manor. I've become such good friends with Druella and Narcissa."

She was ready at last. Severus was vastly relieved to hear it, though much less surprised than he would have been only a few weeks before.

"The memories aren't all bad," said Mother, looking around the shadowy, dusty sitting room, mounded with packing boxes. "And it's the closest thing we've got to a family home. But I don't want to live here right now, and I think you feel the same way."

He did. "I'm on bereavement leave for the rest of the week. We can begin looking for a flat tomorrow. We're sure to find one--"

Mother put her fingers to Severus's lips, shushing him as she'd used to do when he was a little boy.

"You'll find your flat, and I'll find mine," she said, then smiled. "You're a bit old to live with your mother, aren't you? You'll want some privacy, a place where you can entertain your own friends."

Severus looked at her, remembering how his heart had sunk within him when she had shown up on his doorstep the last time Tobias had left her, nearly a year ago now. He'd never had the friends, but how he had treasured the privacy, how he had hated having to give it up.

"I can easily afford it, with your father's pension." She smiled gently. "I'll be fine. I don't have to burden you any longer."

"You've never burdened me, Mother." He faltered into silence on his own. She didn't need to shush him this time.

She knew he had lied. But finally he could hope that knowing the truth would not grieve her too much.

"You're a young man, Severus," said Mother. "You want your freedom."

_"Tell the truth, Severus. What do you really want?"_

_"Freedom..."_

"You ought to take it, then," she went on, smiling. "You don't want your old mother holding you back."

---

Was it so very strange, then, that Severus was not surprised when in the next week, a couple of days before he was to return to work, Lord Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor?

Lucius came to his room with the news after dinner, after dark.

"He wants to see you," said Lucius, with a light in his eyes Severus had not seen since the night he had cast Sectumsempra on him. The light seemed less strange than it had then, less frightening, as if now Severus understood.

---

He met Voldemort in the same library as before, with the same rubbed leather, the same rosewood, the same Persian rug of robin's-egg blue. The claret, however, seemed even lighter and more fragrant than before. Even Voldemort drank this time, sipping abstemiously yet appreciatively.

It was he who presently broke the silence. "Is this an occasion for commiseration, would you say, Severus?" he asked. "Should I say that I'm sorry your father is dead?"

There was no point in lying, especially to him. "No," Severus admitted.

"Good," said Voldemort easily, "since I'm the one who killed him."

Severus knew no shock or surprise showed in his face, for he felt none. His stomach felt suddenly leaden, that was all. He set his glass of wine down on the side table.

"I knew you'd never be up to it, once I'd heard you'd thrown out the Hidden Hellebore," said Voldemort.

"The police say Will Paxton killed him," said Severus. "And the Aurors agree."

"The Aurors. Rufus Scrimgeour, you mean. Inquisitive chap, isn't he? Well, in a way, they're right. You don't think I'd come out and raise a wand to Tobias, do you? No, an old schoolmate of yours, Rabastan Lestrange, was able to give me a hand. I found him quite trainable (says he learned some of his best spells from you, in fact), quite surprisingly capable of learning my most sophisticated Command and Obliviation magic. He acquainted himself with Will Paxton--that man spent a _lot_ of time at the pub; Rabastan just found out his favourite watering-hole, met him there a few times, bought him a pint or two, became a friend of sorts. He cast an Imperius Curse on Paxton a day before your father met his untimely end, managed to stay out of the argument Paxton had with Tobias that fateful night--stayed out of sight, actually, Disillusioned in a shadowy corner of the pub. After the deed was done, Rabastan erased all trace of the Imperius Curse from Paxton's mind and Obliviated all trace of himself from Paxton's memory. And Rabastan outdid himself, I must say. The whole thing went so well that neither the Aurors nor the Muggle policemen have a clue as to what really happened."

Voldemort fell silent. Was he waiting for Severus to thank him? Severus did not feel quite up to that. And yet the weight in his stomach subsided a bit, to a kind of heavy relief. He had not been responsible. Not really.

"You're not up to it yet," Voldemort said again, not kindly, though he sounded indulgent. "After you threw the Hidden Hellebore away on Morgan's order, you never made up another dose, although you had opportunities, although you couldn't have forgotten how. You're not up to murder, not even the murder of someone you hate as much as you hated Tobias." Voldemort paused, then added with something like relish: "But then, it's a rare man who can kill his own father: who, looking his father in the eye, can raise his wand and strike him dead."

Severus was not one of those men. He hadn't the courage, Voldemort meant, and he was right. He hadn't even had the courage for the Hidden Hellebore, for the sneaking, underhanded ways of the poisoner. That was why his rages against Tobias had been so flailingly impotent, why he had consumed with his anger no one but himself. He had known he'd had the power--a wizard's power--to free himself of Tobias for good. And he had known--always--that he would never dare to use it.

But no matter now. It was finished. He was free.

"His life was a torment," Voldemort went on. "To you, to your mother. To himself. Reduced to stalking your mother from that wretched hole in Grimmauld Place! It was putting a sick, maddened animal out of its misery. It was for his own good."

There was no answer to that, no argument. It was true.

So Severus didn't answer, didn't argue. "And Paxton?" he said instead.

"He'll go to jail, of course. For a good long time, perhaps for the rest of his life. But the way he was going--record as long as your arm and all that--he'd have ended up there anyway. Does it worry you that he's ended up there a little earlier than he'd expected?"

Severus remembered Paxton coming round to Spinner's End when he was a little boy, loud, drunk, beery-breathed, more than a little frightening. "No," he said.

"Good," said Voldemort. "I did what needed to be done. What you are not ready to do yet."

Severus remained silent. What was done couldn't be undone. And he hadn't done it. For Mother's sake, for his own sake, why not let it pass? When he knew that, in a very short time, once he allowed himself to feel it, he would be glad that Tobias was dead?

Voldemort picked up a _Daily Prophet_ that lay rolled up on the table beside their wine glasses. "New show trials of captured Death Eaters," he said, looking at the front page. "New sentencings to Azkaban or the Dementor's Kiss. New sentencings to death, whether death comes soon or late. Do you know, Severus, that not one of my Death Eaters has survived six months in Azkaban with his mind intact? That most are dead within the year?" He looked up, into Severus's face. "Oh, yes, of course. You do know."

He paused. Severus felt impelled to fill the silence, to rid it of his memory of Ruskin's final screams. "Yes. I know."

"Well, then. I hardly need to tell you that Dark is not synonymous with evil. I don't know whether you had an opportunity to canvass Olaus Ruskin's views before he died. But I don't doubt he was of the opinion that, in his own case, the Ministry was using evil to fight what it called evil."

Another memory broke the surface of Severus's mind: the torches on the walls of the infirmary in Azkaban, flickering weakly, no match for the dementors rustling in the corners. Ruskin, bound to a bed, pale, sweating, glaring wildly, with a belly and a soul full of Defences-Downdraught: _"Mad? You're worried about me going mad, Severus? But isn't that what Barty Crouch wants?"_

"He was quite strongly opposed to Magical Law Enforcement's new policies in Azkaban," said Severus drily.

"Strong is the operative word, is it not, where Olaus was concerned? Until Potter forced him to drink your Defences-Downdraught, the dementors couldn't touch him."

Voldemort looked into the fire as he spoke. Severus gazed at his faintly misshapen profile, his distant expression. "Yes. And he chose the Downdraught and the dementors before betraying you."

Voldemort turned to face him. "Yes. Olaus was loyal. I value that in my friends. Along with strength. I know few wizards stronger than Olaus Ruskin."

Severus knew no one stronger. Unless he was looking at him at that moment.

"Except you, perhaps. You are as strong as Ruskin was, as steeped in and fascinated by the Dark. You taught him Sectumsempra."

"Yes. I did." Looking into Voldemort's eyes, Severus remembered the feeling of simple mastery it had given him to possess that magic, to know that his skill and power had caused Ruskin to seek him out.

"Strong as Ruskin was, he's dead now," said Voldemort. "And he was one of my servants. He had my protection. You are alone. You work at St Mungo's, a place full of Healer-Legilimentes, witches and wizards who are capable of reaching deeply into the mind. The kind of power they have, meant to heal the psychic damage caused by malevolent or misplaced magic, could easily be put to other uses: like finding out how far the magical faculties of a certain Apothecary are bent toward the Dark."

Severus remembered the lie he'd told to Sage and Wort after healing Auror Dawlish of Sectumsempra, that he'd simply formed the counter-curse off a weak version of the spell he'd picked up at school.

"You could end up like Ruskin if you're not careful," Voldemort went on. "If there's one thing the Aurors don't like--if there's one thing the Ministry of Magic doesn't like--it's a strong Dark wizard. But then, you know that. When you were in Azkaban, what was it Warden Reid liked least about you? Not that you objected to his use of the dementors. No. He didn't become angry until you and Potter banded together with such strength that you drove the dementors off the island.

"Because, you see, Severus, what Reid, Crouch, Bagnold and their kind don't like--and _all_ that they don't like--is strength. They hate the Dark wizard not because he's wicked--a word they toss around as if they were talking about a naughty schoolboy who's earned a month of detentions--but because he's strong. So strong that he wants no outsider to place limits on the use of his power."

Voldemort laughed, suddenly and incongruously. "Do you know, they don't even like _Dumbledore_ for that reason! He sets limits on himself as severe as any the most craven of them labour under. But they're _his_ limits. He commands himself. And he rules Hogwarts as his own little fief, and does what he pleases on the Wizengamot and in the International Confederation. He doesn't let the likes of Millicent Bagnold or Barty Crouch tell him what to do. And so, though the petty, scrabbling bureaucrats need him, they come very close to hating him."

To think that people like Bagnold and Crouch, who looked so dried-up in their _Prophet_ photographs and sounded so stodgy in their official pronouncements had the capacity for so hot-blooded an emotion as hate--and for Dumbledore, of all people--took Severus aback for a moment.

"Oh, yes, Severus," said Voldemort with one of his needle-toothed smiles. "Professor Dumbledore is dearly hated by the people who need and use him the most. He is strong enough to do as he pleases and is, as a result, an essentially happy man. I will kill him one of these days, I assure you. Nevertheless, for that strength and that happiness, I admire him. The petty people abase themselves before Albus Dumbledore. And yet, for his strength and happiness, they secretly hate him.

"This even though he sides with them. Even though he accepts their fencings-in, their prisons, their Azkabans of the soul. Their limits. He imposes those limits on himself and, with his Order of the Phoenix, helps the Ministry impose them on others. Upon us. Albus Dumbledore, who will fight for the rights of the lowliest Mudblood, has no trouble handing over wizards of the purest blood whom he and his Order capture to Crouch and, through Crouch, to the dementors."

"The Order of the Phoenix?"

"The Order of the Phoenix. A ragtag band of rejects Dumbledore's collected, who bow to him like bandits to their chief. Whom he sends out to fight and die for him. I've killed several of them myself."

_"The Order of the Phoenix." _Ruskin, on the last day Severus and Potter had questioned him, the day of his death. _"The Dark Lord knows about the Order of the Phoenix.... He knows them, Potter. And he will kill them. __Every one.__"_

It was that which had set Potter off, driven him into the fury which had drawn fifty Dementors to Ruskin's side: _"Tell me where to find your Master and his murderers, tell me, or I'll--!"_

Potter's experience in Azkaban had driven him from the Auror programme. How had he occupied himself afterward? In work for his father, he'd said. _"I've been part-time for a while. Now I can go full-time." _

_"Oh..."_ said Severus.

"Yes?"

"I just--thought of something. James Potter--I think he must be a member of this Order of the Phoenix."

"I know he is," said Voldemort. His voice turned quite cold. "He and his wife."

"Lily," said Severus. He remembered the last time he'd seen her at St Mungo's, before she had left on what Harding had called her medical leave, on crutches, her leg twisted by a Bone-cracker Curse, her womb holding a child.

"Lily and James Potter," said Voldemort. "Two very large thorns in my side. I haven't found a way to pluck them out yet. But I will."

Severus looked into Voldemort's eyes and said nothing. He hadn't tried to look away from the red-sheened irises and slitted pupils since Voldemort had caught him in his gaze. Snake's eyes. Indeed, Severus could have thought that Voldemort's face had taken on more of the characteristics of the snake since he'd last seen him. But that did not matter. He was no more afraid of snakes now than he had been before. He was a Slytherin, and Slytherins were represented by the snake. Like a familiar, and was not the wizard's familiar even closer to him than a friend?

"I know there's no love lost between you and James Potter," said Voldemort. "But the girl?"

"The girl?"

"Lily."

Potter's wife? The happy thought behind Potter's Patronus? Severus had seen her in Potter's mind when he had gripped Potter's hand to join their Patronuses, flowers crowning her head and embroidered in her wedding gown, gazing at Potter as if he were a gift she couldn't believe had been given to her.

Potter's happy thought. It brought no happiness to Severus. Nor did it rekindle the fear and fury their Patronuses had been meant to dispel. The memory of Lily in Potter's mind felt distant, like the memory contained in an old, yellowed photograph. It left Severus cold.

Lily had chosen her way, long ago. She had chosen Potter, everything Potter had, everything Potter was. It was surprising, really, that the Dark Lord did not see that she could mean nothing to Severus.

"You see her nearly every day," said Voldemort. "You work together."

"We're in different departments. I see her only in passing." Severus shrugged. "She means no more to me than her husband does."

Voldemort smiled as if Severus's answer had pleased him. "Enough of her, then. She is another one of those who will not take what their own power offers them, who blindly and unthinkingly reject the Dark. I have no interest in people like that. You are not like that."

"No," Severus agreed.

"And so you are in danger. Lucius rescued you once, after the Hidden Hellebore incident. He quashed Reid, who might well have had your Apothecary's licence as revenge for dispersing his dementors.

"But that was then. Now, you're alone again. It's only a matter of time before another subminister, another Auror--that nosy Scrimgeour, perhaps--targets you for having too much power, too much skill in Dark magic. How will you fight back? They'll say you shouldn't, of course. They'll crush you if you try. You'll end up like Ruskin.

"I don't agree with their policy," said Voldemort with a low, ironic laugh, "to say the least. And so I fight for my Death Eaters, and they fight for me, against prison, against the dementors, against death. If you can accommodate the Dark, if you accept no limits on your body and spirit--do you have not only the right but the duty to fight back?"

Voldemort's eyes held Severus still, and still he felt no desire to resist. No limits on body and spirit. Freedom. How was freedom evil? Look at Mother. With one curse, Rabastan Lestrange had arranged for Will Paxton to kill Tobias Snape. Tobias, who had long needed killing, was dead. Will Paxton, who had been a burden on society for as long as Severus could remember, would be removed from society into prison for the rest of his life. The death of Tobias Snape, her marriage to whom had been the biggest mistake of Eileen Prince's life, had given Eileen--Mother--magical, emotional, physical and financial freedom. Rabastan's Dark, Unforgivable Imperius Curse had made Mother happier than Severus had ever seen her.

And hadn't Mother's happiness and security lifted from his own shoulders the heaviest of his burdens? Could Severus deny that Rabastan's Dark, Unforgivable Imperius Curse had made him happy?

What was wrong with being happy?

"There is nothing wrong with being happy," said Voldemort softly. "There is nothing wrong with assuring that your mother need never live in fear and want again. There is nothing wrong with being glad that the greatest stumbling-block to her happiness is gone.

"There is nothing wrong with no longer having to scrabble after the necessities of life, now that your mother has your father's pension instead of his debts. There is nothing wrong with doing with your life what were meant to do with it, with using the talents you were given, with doing, simply, what you want.

"There is nothing wrong with seeking knowledge--all sorts of knowledge--no matter what labels others have placed upon it. There is nothing wrong with seeking power, any kind of power, no matter what others call it who can't find that power, who wouldn't know how to use it if they did find it.

"So they call it evil, all those Ministers, Professors and Aurors who are afraid of the Dark. They oppress those who seek its power, because they know that a master of the Dark Arts need fear no one. No one--no Minister, Professor or Auror--would dare become his enemy."

The slitted snake pupils had widened into chasms nearly consuming the red of Voldemort's eyes. "Dark magic is for enemies," said Severus.

"Yes. It is for enemies. For those would mistreat your mother. For those who would crush you, humiliate you, deprive you. For those who, if you let them, would slowly kill you.

"That's the only crime, you know, Severus. To let them kill you."

Especially when it was so clear that it was you, not they, who deserved to live. "You think I have power for the Dark."

"I know you do. You lack only the training to harness it. The training the small-minded of the wizarding world have denied you. I can remedy that."

Severus frowned. "Why do you want to? Why do you want to do so much for me? Why have you done so much?"

"You mean, why have I arranged a murder for you?" Again Voldemort laughed in a low voice. "I'm surprised you haven't asked before this, if you actually wonder. I want you to join us." He paused, tilting his head. "Of course, I've never had to sweep as large an obstacle as Tobias Snape out of the way of any of my other Death Eaters. You reminded me of myself in that, crippled as you were by the handicap of a Muggle father. I sympathised, believe me. But that wasn't all. You're like me in many ways, but in one way very much unlike. You see, I long ago called upon Dark magic to perform the greatest of its services for me, and I am therefore fully Dark. Not that I need or want to, but I cannot conjure a Patronus. Neither can any who have yet been able to take my Mark. But you--you are perfectly balanced, exquisitely poised between Light and Dark. You invent the Darkest curses and come up with the Lightest spells to counter them. You conjure a Patronus and formulate Hidden Hellebore. You make a vow to Dumbledore that lies secret in your soul, guarded from my Legilimency by his Sword of Gryffindor. You are happy with me for ridding you by murder of the nuisance that was your father.

"You see the contradictions! I have never known anyone quite like you, balanced on a thread between Light and Dark, powerful in both. You would become one of my most valuable servants if you joined me, highly regarded and well-rewarded, for I know exactly what you want. Have I not proven that?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"Yes. My servant. My friend. My family." Voldemort looked almost dreamy. "For your friends are those whom you reward for worthy service. Your family are those whom you protect because they are of value to you. It would be risky. I will allow that, because I think you know it. You have so much Light in you. You remain drawn to it. Dumbledore must have seen it. That's why he thought it worth his while to meddle with you. But I will take the risk. I will ask you to join me and, if you do, I will give you exactly what you are worth. And as you know that you are worth more than anyone around you, I do not think you will be displeased."

Severus looked at him--stared at him, but Voldemort did not seem to mind. He looked, as Lucius had said, _different. _But he seemed to think what Severus had concluded at their first meeting, that _different_ was not necessarily _wrong._ He had the face his choices had given him, and he was pleased with the choices, his face and himself.

Why should he not be pleased, and why should it matter to Severus whether he was or not? Severus had known people with beautiful faces and handsome forms. They'd been his enemies, as often as not, like Potter and Black. Or they had abandoned him for his enemy, like Lily. He no longer cared. No one, handsome or ugly, good or evil, had given him the gift Voldemort had given him: freedom. None of them offered the power that Voldemort offered; Dumbledore had punished him for seeking it. The long-suffering, faintly disapproving patience Severus had endured from him while learning the Patronus Charm had been a discipline all its own.

As for Sectumsempra, the Firewhip and other Dark spells that had sprung from Severus's mind and magical power.... Strong passions had shaken him in his lifetime, storms of hatred, fear, longing, delight and triumph. Nothing had compared with that feeling of power, that sense that he controlled everything and everyone around him, that surged through him with the casting of a curse of his own creation. It was a thirst for life, comparable to the dementors' thirst for feeling and (the insight surprised Severus) a thirst that made them explicable. The dementors had to hunt relentlessly for the food that sustained them. If Voldemort, after giving Severus freedom, now offered to increase his life by unlocking doors to Dark magic beyond Severus's comprehension--had Severus ever been offered more? And was not the refusal of this offer to master death the choice to embrace death? To die? And who but a madman longed to die?

"Life, and the power to get as much of it as we can," said Voldemort. "Between us, Severus, we half-bloods deserve it as much as the pure-bloods do. And magical power, you may have discovered, is one thing in this world which doesn't discriminate against us. I can teach you to use your power, in all its aspects, to the fullest extent possible. I can give you all that Dumbledore and his school refused you. All that Dumbledore himself knows, all that Dumbledore possesses, whether he admits to it or not."

Why not? He'd spent his life thus far scrabbling after crumbs, in Spinner's End, at Hogwarts, at St Mungo's. Why sentence himself to that forever, so that he died as bitter and unfulfilled as he'd lived? Why rely on anyone, even Voldemort, to give him freedom and life when he could learn, as a Death Eater, how to take them for himself?

"I'll take it, then," said Severus. "I'll join you."

---

In his fancies, Severus had never got past saying "yes" to Voldemort. He had never wondered what a Death Eater initiation might be like, whether he would kneel before a profaned altar with Voldemort looming above him in vaguely priestly dress like the Black Man out of some seventeenth-century Muggle's fevered dream. Would torches fastened to mould-streaked stone walls shed their flickering light on ghastly ceremonies concluded, no doubt, by largely unimaginable but certainly distasteful orgies?

The reality, as it turned out, was nothing like that. Or at least it didn't start that way. Severus's initiation into the Death Eaters began as his other meetings with Voldemort had done, in Lucius Malfoy's library immediately after he had accepted Voldemort's invitation to join him. Severus's sense of banal unreality increased when Lucius arrived in answer to Voldemort's summons--it seemed as though he and Voldemort were only adding another participant to another one of their conferences over claret. Then Severus looked into Lucius's face. The tension he saw, the banked fear in Lucius's eyes, made him realise--no, _remember--_that he was about to do something very dangerous.

Voldemort, still seated, smiled up at Lucius. "Yes. He has agreed to join us."

Surprisingly, the news did not seem to make Lucius happy. "Have you warned him, my Lord?"

"No. I suppose I should, shouldn't I? It wouldn't make _you_ look very good if he fails."

Severus looked from one to the other: at Lucius's pale face and tight mouth, at Voldemort with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his long, thin fingers steepled under his chin, his mouth curved in a lazy, ironic smile.

"If I fail at what?" asked Severus.

Voldemort straightened to look at him. "In taking the Dark Mark. It's that troublesome Light magic of yours. As Dumbledore will take into his Order only those who are Light enough to conjure a Patronus, I will take only those who are Dark enough to receive my Mark. Of course, the unqualified do have a way of weeding themselves out. You must want what I have to give you strongly enough to submit yourself entirely to me in order to get it. There are those who have tried to lie their way in, Aurors or members of Dumbledore's Order hoping to infiltrate our ranks." The smile was gone. The voice had turned cold. "They did not want me. They did not want what I had to give them. They hated me and my Dark Arts, and so the attempt to take my Dark Mark killed them.

"In a way, they can't help it. They can't help hating me, as their Light, when our powers meet in the passing of the Mark, can't help leaching into my Dark. For I am stronger. I am always stronger. I see through their lies to their hatred and overwhelm their magic with my greater power. If that kills them--well, that is the way of the world. The weak always fall to the strong."

"I don't hate you," said Severus.

"No," agreed Voldemort, "you don't. And so I give you the opportunity to join me. But even now you may turn it down. You may withdraw your agreement; you may leave Lucius's house with no greater consequence than the Obliviation of your memory of meeting me."

Severus would lose this memory, of the most feared wizard in the world personally requesting him to join him. He would lose the opportunity of gaining power from Voldemort, of gaining a power _like_ Voldemort's, of seeing to it that the Tobiases, the Potters, the Reids never tormented him again.

"No," said Severus. "I know I can do it. I won't withdraw. I said I wanted to join you, and I meant it."

"Good. So long as you know that once I lay my hand upon you, there is no turning back."

Severus looked into Voldemort's eyes and did not answer, did not speak a word, and yet Voldemort seemed to sense his final assent. "Kneel," he said.

Severus knelt.

"Lucius," said Voldemort.

Raising his wand, Lucius approached. Severus half-expected to be trapped in some binding magic like the fiery red chain of the Unbreakable Vow. Instead, he felt a slight heaviness in the air around him, as if he were immersed in a cloud of cotton wool, which he recognised as the effect of a strong Imperturbable Charm.

"Give me your left hand."

Something in the voice, a power like Dumbledore's, commanded obedience. Severus fixed his eyes on Voldemort's face and extended his left hand. Voldemort's long, bony fingers clamped painfully around it. Keeping a tight grip on Severus's hand, he thrust the sleeve of Severus's robe above the elbow and laid a thin, cold hand upon the inner aspect of Severus's forearm.

Voldemort's hand did not remain cold. It burned like an iron brand laid into Severus's skin, stopping the breath in his throat. He bit down hard, tearing the insides of his cheeks with his teeth. The leak of blood left a coppery taste on his tongue.

But the pain didn't stop at his skin. Fire lanced into his arm, racing along his nerves to his heart, which pounded wildly, irregularly, slamming against his ribs as if it wanted to break free of his chest before it burst from pain. Fire flared in his head, an agony that Severus was sure would split his skull in two if he couldn't make it stop. He writhed, threw himself backward, but he seemed not held by but melded to Voldemort. He couldn't get loose. He heard a loud hissing, as from a huge and angry snake. Then Lucius's voice: "No, my Lord, it's certainly not _normal--"_

Finally, a raw, harsh scream, as if from the man drawn who is quartered at last, Severus's screaming, which went on and on until the pain dragged him into the dark.


	22. Chapter 22

THE LIBRARY AGAIN

Winter, 1980

"Poor Severus," said Voldemort. "But what else could I have done? I would have had to kill him if he had refused to take the Mark. Obliviation would never have worked."

"N--no. But he didn't refuse." Obvious, but Lucius couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say. He was too shaken by what he had just seen.

"I didn't realise his Light magic would be _that_ inconvenient." Voldemort looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "You're sure your house-elf can take care of him?"

"Dobby is my most capable elf," said Lucius. And more importantly, his most trustworthy. What had happened to Severus Snape in Lucius's library must never leave it. Voldemort would insist upon it, whether he said so in so many words or not.

"Good," said Voldemort. "He must recover as soon as possible, so that I can put him to work."

"I thought he would die!" Lucius's astonishment burst out of him.

"But he did not," said Voldemort softly. "Just as I hoped. Just as I gambled."

Lucius smiled in spite of himself. It must have been the relief. "At least, now that he is ours, you can tell Bella why she had to help snare him. She never trusted Severus, you know. She still doesn't."

Voldemort laughed. "Poor Bella! She found it most distasteful to befriend Tobias Snape; she made no secret of that! But how else could we hope to get him into Linden Lane, with the Muggle-Repelling Enchantment that Watkins woman had woven with her tenants' magic?"

"I was hoping Eileen Snape would let her husband in," said Lucius.

"Yes, who knew she would finally learn strength? Surprising, isn't she? Rather like her son."

"Fortunately, Bella's connection with Tobias was enough," said Lucius, though he still felt rather doubtful.

"It's like being a Mudblood, isn't it?" Voldemort laughed coldly. "How do the Muggle-born's parents get into Diagon Alley to help him with his school shopping? How do they get to Hogwarts for the conference with the Headmaster when their precious darling has done something horribly wrong? How do they get so far as Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters to see their child onto the Hogwarts Express? Their wizard child is the Muggles' passport into the wizarding world.

"So it is with a Muggle husband and a witch wife, like Tobias and Eileen Snape. Because of their conjugal connection, the witch Eileen could let the Muggle Tobias into the magical Linden Lane, even against the wishes of her landlady and the other tenants.

"And so it might be," said Voldemort, "with a Muggle lover and his witch mistress."

Lucius stared.

"Bella could get into Linden Lane. She had accompanied Narcissa on visits to Eileen Snape in Linden Lane several times. It remains only to ask how close a relationship a Muggle needs to have with a witch for her to get him past Mrs Watkins's Muggle-Repelling Enchantment."

Lucius continued to stare.

"We shan't ask Bella that," said Voldemort. "Suffice it to say that she has always done whatever I needed her to do. All she volunteered to tell me was that she Obliviated Tobias Snape, removing all traces of herself from his memory." He chuckled. "Perhaps she wishes she could Obliviate herself."

Lucius had to get himself through several moments of shock before he could say, "At least now Tobias Snape is dead."

"Yes. He's dead. And I saw to it the last month's rent was paid on his room in Grimmauld Place. Severus won't have that debt to worry about."

And Bella, Lucius imagined, would no longer have to worry about attending Tobias there. Or perhaps he didn't want to imagine that. "How did you steer him to Grimmauld Place?"

"Will Paxton. Via Rabastan Lestrange. They both took rooms in the same boarding house. Will thought he'd look for work while Tobias looked for his wife, since there was nothing for him back home. I hope that made it easier for you?"

Much easier for keeping Tobias under his eye, since Lucius had been with Narcissa at Number Twelve frequently in the past year, comforting poor Aunt Walburga after Regulus had disappeared and Orion had died. They'd met Bella and Rodolphus there often enough. So that had probably made it easier for Bella too.

"She will come to feel that her sacrifice was worth it, I am sure," said Voldemort. "For now Eileen Snape is secure. Now Severus Snape is free."

"Of all the rest of Tobias's debt too," said Lucius, eager to move on from the subject of Bella and Tobias. "Tobias Snape owed enough money to ruin Severus. But Father's solicitors paid it all. At the request of a client, according to Wandless senior."

Voldemort smiled. "I persuaded the firm to contribute to a good cause."

Lucius looked at him in surprise. To kill Tobias Snape was one thing. But to coerce the ancient firm of Wandless and Wandless? "Why have you done so much for Severus Snape, my lord?"

"The very question he asked me. But you ought to know the answer, Lucius. You are the one who proposed I take on the wizard who could invent Sectumsempra _and_ conjure a Patronus."

"You have not found the latter a stumbling-block, my lord," Lucius ventured.

"I doubted you, Lucius. I admit it. But you were right. He has Light in him, but darkness rules him, or he could not have taken my Mark. He is like you and me. He wants all for himself that he can get."

"I serve you, my lord," Lucius murmured. "What I want, I want for you."

"Oh, stop lying," Voldemort said, laughing. "Or rather, don't. You amuse me."

Swallowing hard, Lucius hurried on. "So you have a use for Snape, my lord? You've taken such an interest in him these past few months."

"You're not jealous, are you, Lucius?"

Actually, he wasn't. He had learned better than to crave the Lord's full attention. He also knew better than to say so.

"I do have a use for him," said Voldemort. "As Severus knows now--better than any of you, I think--I have a way of barring spies from our ranks."

Lucius knew all he needed. He hadn't forgotten the Auror, a young fellow named McMahon, who'd had the life burned out of him when he'd tried to take the Dark Mark. Neither Dumbledore nor the Ministry had sent anybody since to try to infiltrate the Death Eaters.

"Dumbledore has his own way of rooting out spies," said Voldemort. "Until now, it has been foolproof. Dumbledore has devised a means of sending messages using Patronuses, but that is not why they are important to him. The ability to conjure a Patronus shows a bent toward Light magic--an inclination so strong that I have never before seen that and the capacity to take the Dark Mark--which is the willingness to submit to me--in one and the same person. I never expected to see it. And then, Lucius, you brought me Severus. With Severus, I can do to Dumbledore what he has never been able to do to me. I can place a spy within the very heart of his Order. Perhaps--" Voldemort's voice fell "--within _his_ very heart."

Seeing the look on Voldemort's face, Lucius might have feared for Dumbledore, if he hadn't disliked the man so much. "Within his heart, my lord? How will you do that?"

Voldemort eyed him. "Did Severus ever mention to you anything about giving Dumbledore--some sort of promise?"

"Why--er, no, my lord."

"No," agreed Voldemort. "He wouldn't. And _you_ will never mention that I spoke of it."

"Of course not, my lord."

"I know how to handle my weapon, Lucius. That is all you need to know. That is all which it is safe for you to know." Voldemort smiled. "Yes, I do worry about your safety. You will be of use to me for a while yet, I think." A distant look entered his eyes. "And Severus. He will be of use too. My weapon. My Sword of Slytherin, which I will aim straight at Dumbledore's heart. My spy, who will infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix."

Lucius looked at him in amazement, then with satisfaction. It was _he _who had given Severus Snape to the Dark Lord.

"And if all goes well, you will have your reward," said Voldemort. "Never fear. But on to more pressing matters. For instance, the job of a St Mungo's Apothecary. It's quite onerous, don't you think? Late nights, on-call shifts." Voldemort paused as if waiting for an answer.

"I wouldn't know, my lord."

"No. A Malfoy would never stoop to grubbing for a living."

Indeed not, thought Lucius. But the Dark Lord, smiling sardonically, did not appear to consider that much of a virtue.

"But Severus must grub away, Lucius, as you need not, and fortunately we can put that to use. His school records indicate that, although he wasn't first in his year, in a few subjects Severus was outstanding. Potions. Very helpful, if you want to be an Apothecary. Defence Against the Dark Arts. Well, that stands to reason for someone who could create countering magic to those nasty spells he thought up."

"I remember when he started Hogwarts," said Lucius. "He knew more curses than half the seventh-years."

"Well enough to teach them, as Rabastan can attest. And what do you know? Headmaster Dumbledore is looking for another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for Hogwarts."

"Again?"

"Yes. I understand poor Professor Carmichael was nearly eaten by an Acromantula a couple of weeks ago, on a routine foray into the Forbidden Forest. She's recuperating at home and says she won't be back to teach next year. She'd prefer, I hear, to return to her former quiet life of hunting Lethifolds in New Guinea."

"There was a new one every year I went to Hogwarts," said Lucius. "And now that I've left, Father still talks every spring about the Governors vetting the contract for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"They'll be doing it again this spring. And I was thinking: why shouldn't it be Severus's contract? Why shouldn't Dumbledore hire him?"

Lucius looked at him in wonder. He knew no one who had joined Voldemort because of his brilliance, but the wizard certainly was brilliant. "He's as qualified as any they've had. And no one is closer to Dumbledore than his teachers."

"Exactly. Dumbledore is an acute Legilimens, so Severus will need a bit of Occlumency training. But my conversations with him lead me to believe he'd be a natural. Dumbledore could decide against hiring him, of course. But something tells me...." Voldemort trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Every moment of their conversation since Dobby had carried Severus out had seemed to imply that Voldemort thought Severus was even more remarkable than Lucius had hoped he would. "Yes, my lord?" he urged.

"That Severus would be far less incompetent than some of the people Dumbledore has hired to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts." Smiling, Voldemort rose. "So take good care of him, would you? That way, we could see to it that the children of Hogwarts get at least one year of decent instruction in the subject." He swept to the centre of the room with a swirl of robes and, with an eerily graceful half-turn, Disapparated.

---

Lucius stood watching the spot where Voldemort had stood. Severus was lucky to be alive. And he was lucky that Severus was alive. When, after a minute in Voldemort's grip, Severus had collapsed at his feet, Lucius had feared that Severus was dead, leaving himself no higher, to say the least, in the Dark Lord's esteem.

Instead, it had all turned out better than he had hoped. He had wondered whether he could persuade Severus to meet the Dark Lord. He had succeeded. He had wondered whether he could find Severus and his mother again after they had moved from their tidy mansion block. Through the good offices of an Imperiused St Mungo's personnel records clerk, he had succeeded. It hadn't hurt that, as the son of a hospital trustee, he had more freedom of the hospital office corridors than most. No one would remark upon the appearance of young Mr Malfoy in one or another of the St Mungo's administrative offices. He'd been popping in for lunch with his father before a Board meeting or dinner afterward for the past couple of years.

And he hadn't even had to work out how to get Tobias Snape past old woman Watkins's Muggle-Repelling Charm. The Dark Lord had been enthusiastic enough about Severus after meeting him for the first time to think of his own solution to the problem. And, truth to tell, Lucius doubted he could have been quite so--_imaginative._ It wouldn't be easy for some time to come to look Bellatrix Black Lestrange in the eye. He only hoped Rodolphus never found out.

The rest was easy, after Watkins had chucked Severus and his mother out of Linden Lane. Simply take Severus and Eileen in at Malfoy Manor. Simply prove that the scions of Slytherin House, the Malfoys and Blacks to whom a faintly sinister reputation still clung, would offer them succour as the wizarding government authorities, like the wizarding school authorities before them, would not. And let the Dark Lord do the work which no one else could do better.

So Tobias Snape was dead, killed in a pub brawl while Severus and Eileen slept snug in their beds at Malfoy Manor. Even Rufus Scrimgeour, the Auror who had haunted Severus's footsteps after Severus had healed his partner (such was the wretch's gratitude!), suspected nothing.

Severus was free, and under such circumstances as were bound to steer him toward the Death Eaters. So much Lucius had hoped for. What he hadn't hoped for was the blossoming of Eileen Snape. The comfort his mother's happiness gave Severus was every bit as important as his relief at finding his father had died without debt. And if the Dark Lord had forced Wandless and Wandless to secretly make good on Tobias Snape's debt--well, Lucius couldn't exactly sympathise. The hours old Wandless had billed Father for over the past twenty-five years would more than cover the firm's loss.

Lucius sighed happily, not only at the success of the Dark Lord's plan, but at its beauty. It had even been worth suffering Severus's Sectumsempra Curse, since Severus's healing had left him without scars. After all, it was that night of Sectumsempra, in this very library, which had convinced the Dark Lord to select Severus as the weapon with which he would strike at Albus Dumbledore's heart.

_No one,_ thought Lucius, _no__ one has offered Lord Voldemort a greater prize than Severus Snape._

Better see to it that the prize remained unspoiled. Lucius pointed his wand at the bell rope in the corner. In a few seconds, Dobby responded, Apparating into the library with a _crack! _He bowed until his nose scraped the rug. "Yes, Lucius Malfoy, sir?"

"How is Snape?"

"Severus Snape is sleeping, Lucius Malfoy, sir."

"No tossing and turning? No muttering, no crying out? No nightmares?"

Trembling so hard that the hem of his tea towel shook, Dobby peered into the dark corners of the library.

"Yes, you know who was here," said Lucius. "But he's gone for now. So just answer the question."

Dobby fixed his eyes on Lucius. "Severus Snape sleeps. With no mutterings, no cryings-out, no nightmares. Peacefully, he sleeps."

"Good. Go back to him, then. When he wakens, call me at once."

"Yes, Lucius Malfoy, sir." Dobby bowed, then Disapparated.

"Yes, Lucius Malfoy, sir." Lucius mimicked the elf softly, gazing into the empty space which had held him a moment before. "Yes. Guard Severus Snape carefully, Dobby. He is, for the moment, valuable to Lord Voldemort. So he is--for the moment--valuable to me."

End of Part One


	23. Chapter 23

**The Head Healer**

June, 1976

As always, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries bustled. Healers strode through the lobby, their lime-green robes flapping behind them like the wings of brilliant tropical birds. Visitors, uncertain, worried, frightened or all three, lined up at a desk near the lifts. Behind the desk sat a grandmotherly-looking, kindly-smiling witch.

"Mr John Entwistle? Let me see.... Ah, yes. The Magical Bugs Ward, second floor. His wife? Of course you can go up, my dear. You're perfectly entitled to see him--well, what's left of him, as he's got the vanishing sickness.... You're quite welcome, I'm sure."

House-elves intent on their errands dodged deftly around Healers and visitors alike. The lift came and went. It transported Mrs Entwistle to the second floor, then plunged downward to Accident and Emergency. After a few minutes, the lift returned to the lobby and its doors slid open. The first to emerge were a pair of burly, bluff-faced medi-wizards, clutching mugs of steaming tea and sharing a joke: "And _then_ I said to him..."

Behind the laughing medi-wizards came another wizard dressed in plum-coloured robes embroidered with silver stars and planets. He had a long white beard, a long crooked nose and bright blue eyes glittering keenly behind half-moon spectacles.

The very last to disembark--indeed, he hung back until the white-bearded wizard turned an inquiring eye on him--was a stringy, lank-haired youth wearing school robes caked with dirt. His face was so pale that but for his eyes, darting here and there with lively suspicion, he would have looked ill.

However reluctantly, the young wizard followed the old wizard to the grandmotherly witch's desk. On the desk was a sign saying _Inquiries._ The witch received the older wizard graciously. "Why, Professor Dumbledore, what a pleasant surprise!" Her rosy face fell a bit and she blushed rosier still. "Unless--er--you're here to visit a patient?"

"Not right this moment, Mrs Shaw, no," said Professor Dumbledore. "But if you could possibly send a message in to Head Healer Meed and let her know I've arrived?"

"But, Professor--at this hour?"

"I assure you, she is in her office, and she is expecting me."

"Very well, sir." Mrs Shaw took a small parchment from the tray on her desk, dipped a quill into her inkstand and wrote a brief note. Then she waved her wand. The parchment leapt off her desk, folded itself into an aeroplane and flew down the nearest corridor.

In no more than a minute, another paper aeroplane shot out of the same corridor. Professor Dumbledore opened his hand and the aeroplane landed lightly on his palm.

He unfolded the aeroplane, read it, refolded it into a neat square and placed it in his pocket. "This way, please, Severus," he said to the youth.

Professor Dumbledore tipped his hat to Mrs Shaw. Severus glanced at her, then away. Then the old wizard walked with the young wizard into the corridor, toward the office of Head Healer Meed.

---

Before reaching Constance Meed's office, however, Albus Dumbledore stopped in front of a door with a plate on it saying _Trainee's Room._ He opened the door and pointed his wand inside. A single candle flared to life on a battered desk, revealing a frail-looking chair in front of the desk and a tiny, ascetic-looking bed against a featureless wall.

"It might be best if you waited here, Severus," said Professor Dumbledore. "Not particularly comfortable, perhaps, but Healer Meed promises you won't be disturbed."

Severus stared at the Headmaster in expressionless silence. But to Professor Dumbledore, who had long been a Legilimens, only Severus's face communicated nothing. He could feel fear burning in Severus's heart.

With a tiny, nearly-smothered sigh, Professor Dumbledore softly closed the door of the Trainee's Room and proceeded down the corridor to Healer Meed's office.

---

"Don't talk yet, Albus," said Constance as soon as the former had crossed the threshold of her office and closed the door. She passed him a cup of tea. "Drink this first. You could use it."

Albus opened his mouth, about to demur. Then he changed his mind. "Thank you," he said.

Constance permitted a comforting silence to rest between them as he drank. She looked the same as ever: hair so black that it looked almost blue where the candle-light brightened it, drawn back softly into a bun less severe than Minerva's. She had eyes through which shades of grey seemed to shift, reminding Albus of the shadows of clouds crossing the sea. They were as large and protuberant as Horace Slughorn's eyes, but on her they looked better. She was younger than Minerva McGonagall, though not by much, for she had held the position as Head Healer of St Mungo's Hospital, one of the highest institutional posts in wizarding Britain, for twelve years.

"I won't tell you to stop worrying about James Potter," said Constance. "I will tell you that you'll wear yourself out doing so. And you look worn-out as it is."

"I feel fine. Almost," said Albus, knowing better than to lie to her. Still, a soothing calm stole through his brain, driving out the headache that had taken root behind his eyes once he'd realised he didn't know how to keep James Potter from bleeding to death.

"The tea," said Constance. "My own recipe. I may not spend much time on the wards any more, but I haven't lost my touch."

"In anything, I hope," said Albus. "Healer-Legilimens."

She gazed at him, and he did not try to shield himself. "You haven't failed them, Albus." She smiled briefly. "For one thing, you haven't had the time. The three of you just got here, after all."

"Thank you for that, at least." Albus sank into the armchair. He should still have felt desperate, his head should still have been spinning, but Constance's tea was doing its work.

She picked up a couple of parchments from her desk. "The reports from A&E and Acute Spell Damage. James Potter remains on the regime of Blood-Replenisher that was begun in Accident and Emergency. He's been admitted to the isolation room in Acute Spell Damage. The room's been Disillusioned and has a private entrance. Quite convenient for me, as I'm the only Healer attending to him. Eugenia Wort, the ward's Healer-in-Charge, knows the room is in use, but she doesn't know who is there or why." Constance dropped the parchment back onto her desk. "All at your request."

"And I thank you for indulging my request," Albus said. "I'm sure it couldn't have been easy."

"You want to protect the boys' privacy." Constance folded her hands on top of the desk. "And Hogwarts' reputation."

Albus smiled thinly. "I dread my next meeting with the Board of Governors."

"I've notified James Potter's parents that their son has been admitted to St Mungo's. They're on their way." Constance paused. "I can tell them _what_ happened to James. I can't tell them _how_ it happened."

"Harold Potter is an old friend of mine. I've known Madeline since he married her. I can speak to them if you'd like."

Constance gave him an ironic smile. "You're very helpful, as usual, Albus. And very secretive. As usual."

"Let's just say it was a schoolboy prank gone horribly wrong."

"A schoolboy--! Wait, the other boy. Severus Snape. Is that why he's here?"

Albus nodded.

For several moments Constance didn't speak. "No one knows what's wrong with James Potter except that he won't stop bleeding," she said finally. "No one parsed the spell before he was rushed to that private room in Acute Spell Damage, where my house-elf Dilsey is feeding him Blood-Replenisher Potion. Not an appropriate task for a house-elf, but since you don't want another Healer there..."

"A Healer might talk. Your house-elf won't."

"And if you have your Board of Governors to worry about, I have my Board of Trustees."

"Ah, but what they don't know won't hurt them," Albus said.

Constance laughed shortly. "I hope you're right. Meanwhile, what I don't know could hurt James Potter. If you want me to help him, I need to know more about the spell that struck him. A good bit more, if you want me to counter it."

"I do. Happily, the task should be far from insurmountable, as I've brought you the spell's creator."

Constance stared at him in undisguised astonishment. "Not that boy in the Trainee's Room!"

"Severus Snape, yes."

_"How_ old did you say he was?"

"Seventeen. Of age, and no longer a boy."

"No," Constance agreed. "Though he hasn't left Hogwarts yet."

"Except by casting Sectumsempra, he's given me no indication that he wants to."

"Sectumsempra," Constance repeated. "The incantation?"

"As well as the name."

She was silent for a moment, as if turning the magic words over in her mind. "That curse is supremely Dark," she said. "Unlimited."

"Do you say so?" Albus asked softly.

"James Potter hasn't stopped bleeding. He won't stop bleeding until the spell is either countered or it kills him."

"I was afraid of that," Albus sighed.

"And Blood-Replenisher is all very well, but it loses its effectiveness over time. In a very short time, I'd guess, when pitted against a spell like Sectumsempra."

Albus said nothing, but he had turned so pale as to look as though he needed Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"Which brings us to Severus Snape," said Constance. Leaning over her folded arms, she looked searchingly at Albus. "One of your reclamation projects?"

"He'll have to be, won't he?"

"You could expel him. Perhaps you should expel him. Anyone who can invent a curse like Sectumsempra--perhaps you should cut off his magical training as quickly as you can."

"You of all people, Constance, know that I am here to do exactly the opposite. I want to help Severus Snape discover the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. And I need you to help me do that."

Healer Meed straightened. "That's impossible."

"I hope not. You will have a much more difficult time creating the counter to Sectumsempra without Severus's help. Not that I think you couldn't do it," said Albus with a winning smile.

"That's impossible too. Or well-nigh so. You of all people, _Albus_, should know that."

"That's why Severus and I are here."

Healer Meed began shaking her head before he had finished. "Has it occurred to you that the inventor of Sectumsempra might not have it in him to create its counter?"

"It has," said Albus. "Quite unjustly."

"You hope."

"I hope."

Constance sighed. "Another one of your reclamation projects."

"I wouldn't want to miss one." Albus's voice fell. "As I have done in the past."

"You and your mysterious past," said Constance.

Albus looked at her with a benign expression and said nothing.

"I'll have to search the boy," said Constance. "Does he understand what that means?"

"I've explained as far as I reasonably could. But my students, I'm afraid, are accustomed to only the mildest form of Legilimency."

"Your own."

"My own. There is no other Legilimens at Hogwarts."

"Well. I am a Healer. I have no wish to harm or upset Severus. But it would do neither of us any good for me to waste my time and effort trying to dredge Light magic from a soul that has none. I'm not talking about power. We know he's got that. I'm talking about a bedrock of decency. Innate goodness."

"I understand."

She looked straight into his heart, and again Albus allowed it. He knew how to hide the secrets he needed to keep.

"I don't suppose you could vouch for him," Constance said at last.

"Assure you, you mean, that Severus has the innate goodness to create a counter-curse to Sectumsempra."

"That's right."

"No," said Albus, softly and sadly. "I very much regret that I cannot."

"Pity." Constance cleaned Albus's empty cup with a wave of her wand and stood to replace it in the small cabinet behind her desk. She turned back to Albus. "But then I didn't really think you'd be able to say you could."

"That," said Albus again, "is why Severus and I are here."

"I'll see him tomorrow, then," said Constance. "We'll have breakfast in the Trustees' dining room--better to keep him away from prying eyes in the cafeteria, don't you think?--and then I'll examine him."

Albus inclined his head. "Till tomorrow, then."

---

Professor Dumbledore, having left Head Healer Meed in her office, proceeded to the Trainee's Room. He knocked on the door and Severus called dully for him to enter.

When Dumbledore opened the door, he saw Severus sitting bolt upright on the bed, his black eyes gleaming in the light of the single candle guttering on the table. He was as hot as a furnace to Dumbledore's Legilimency, radiating waves of fear, anger and imperfectly-suppressed guilt. None of those feelings showed on his face.

Dumbledore looked at him in helpless silence for a moment. Severus did not look back at him until the Headmaster spoke.

"I'll call for you at nine tomorrow, Severus, and we'll have breakfast with Head Healer Meed. She's the Healer-Legilimens whom I've asked to help you discover the counter to Sectumsempra."

Dumbledore glanced around the room. It was bare of everything but the bed, the table and a small cold fireplace. There wasn't a window or a picture on the wall. The room seemed entirely devoted to its purpose of providing a place for Trainees to crash into near-comatose sleep after a long shift.

"Do you have everything you need?" Dumbledore asked. "There's a house-elf you could ask for, who takes care of the rooms in this corridor; her name's Dilsey--"

"I know. I've spoken to her. I have everything I need."

"Could I find you something to read?" Dumbledore asked, because that was what he'd want if he were in Severus's place: a good book to take his mind off things.

"No," said Severus in the same dull tone, as if speaking were a chore. "I'm going to bed."

"Of course. As should I. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron." Dumbledore nodded toward the fireplace. "There's Floo powder on the mantel. Call me if you need me."

"Yes, sir."

"Good night, Severus." Not wishing to tax Severus with the necessity of forming a reply, Professor Dumbledore didn't wait for one. He quietly closed the door and made his way to the lobby, where he took a public Floo-fireplace to the Leaky Cauldron.


	24. Chapter 24

**A Marked Man**

Winter, 1980

_It takes only a little force, in the scheme of things, to get the Dark past his surface, his skin, to the point where he opens, invites it to surge and boil in his blood. And it does, burning like fire, curling at its crest, a tidal wave crashing over his heart. The silver sword with the rubies set in its handle does not avail. It sweeps to and fro, laying a line of fire before the wave. But the wave drowns the flame, and the sword with the canny wisdom of its owner goes dark and still. It will survive, as it has survived for centuries, to ring out in battle another day._

_The silver doe is wiser still. She finds a niche deep in her conjuror's soul, safe from the wave of darkness, secluded from the tumult, and curls up there, in hiding, overlooked. Her conjuror never spares her a thought. He cares nothing for the sword's bright fire, nothing for the scintillating silver of the doe. He wants, craves, draws into him only the Dark, from the agony branding his left forearm to the wave flooding his heart._

Severus woke, breaking the surface of sleep, gasping for air like a drowning man thrusting his head above the water.

"Ah, there you are," said Lucius Malfoy.

Severus stared at him, feeling as if he had been jolted from the stupefaction of a Stunning Spell to full consciousness.

"How do you feel?"

Severus didn't answer. He looked around him--at the crisp white sheets of the bed, at the sunlight flooding through the window onto the carpet, at his left forearm covered by the sleeve of his nightshirt. Beneath the sleeve he felt a burning itch, as of a healing wound. Slowly he pulled the sleeve up to his elbow.

There it was: the storied Dark Mark, described in so many lurid _Daily Prophet_ articles detailing the arrests of Death Eaters, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. But instead of "jet" or "pitch" or "Dark as the evil magic that put it there," it was red and rather shiny, like healing skin.

"Don't worry, it will fade," said Lucius. He pulled up the sleeve of his own robe, to reveal a mark like Severus's, etched in faded lines. "In a few days, it will look like this. Unless he calls. Then it will turn black, and you'll feel it. Though not as you did last night. The worst of that should be over."

Severus barely listened. Looking at Lucius's arm, he remembered the last time--the first time--he had seen Lucius's Dark Mark, one year ago in the wintry garden of Malfoy Manor. He had just come from Azkaban after watching the Dementor suck out Olaus Ruskin's soul. Fleetingly and for the very first time, he had entertained the thought of joining Lord Voldemort. One year ago, a few steps away from where he lay right now.

"I won't say Olaus would have been proud of you. He wasn't stodgy enough to be proud of people. But he always did say you'd come around."

Severus looked up. Lucius smiled at him. "I won't say I'm not relieved, either. It looked touch-and-go for a bit, I'll be frank. I was afraid you'd end up in a mess on the floor, like an Auror."

_The darkness is like thick fog too, rolling across the sun, smothering shafts of light._

"But you managed," Lucius went on. "The Dark Lord says you have Light magic in you, but you're no Auror. You're not like anyone else. You can subdue it. You took the Dark Mark. You're one of us now."

Severus looked at him and said nothing. He was still full of the turbulence of whatever had passed the night before. He glanced again at the angry red mark on his arm. It hadn't been a dream: that much he knew.

"Congratulations," said Lucius.

"Thank you," Severus said after a moment. He paused again, collecting himself, returning to the everyday world of sunshine gleaming on the polished floor, warming the carpet by his bed. "Have you been here all night?"

"Oh, no. Dobby took care of you. Not that I wasn't concerned, but he's better at that sort of thing."

Severus felt his head growing clearer. "What happens next?"

"You're one of us now," Lucius repeated, and Severus realised he was exactly right. The Dark Mark they both bore made him more equal to Lucius than he had ever been before.

"We'll be meeting here on Tuesday night at nine," continued Lucius. "We always meet here, so I'm having the fireplace in your flat connected directly to Malfoy Manor. In case you're kept late at work, I'll give you Floo powder for use in the hospital fireplaces which will bring you directly to the Manor. You want to make sure you get here on time. The Dark Lord doesn't like tardiness, and your only excuse for missing a Death Eater meeting is death. Your death."

Severus took that in. It was easy to feel mesmerised, enchanted in the Dark Lord's presence. He'd felt that seduction just last night, before the Lord had laid his hand on the inside of his left forearm. He remembered that. But he also felt fear wriggling in the back of his mind.

"Is he here now?" asked Severus.

"The Dark Lord, you mean? No, he left last night. He's been quite busy lately. He has plans coming to a head, I'm sure of it." A slow smile spread across Lucius's face. "We're winning, you know. I feel it. And I see it in his eyes."

Severus understood about seeing things in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"They're frightened of us now. Bagnold, the Ministry. The Wizengamot. Reid, the Warden of Azkaban. Even St Mungo's, eh?"

Severus recalled Galen Sage working on Auror Dawlish, trying and failing to mend the rents of Sectumsempra in Dawlish's flesh. He remembered Lily Potter emerging white-faced from Room One, shutting the door on the corpses of the Prewett brothers. "They're aware of us, at least."

"They're not immune--to put it as a Healer might. Not immune to fear. The only place that thinks it's safe is Hogwarts. The only wizard who doesn't fear the Dark Lord is Albus Dumbledore. Every other witch and wizard in the land who has the sense for anything has the sense to fear the Lord. Even his Death Eaters. Even I." Lucius gestured safely above his Dark Mark, careful not to touch it. "He can reach us through the Mark, make it very uncomfortable for us if we do not instantly obey his command to come to him. And when we do come to him, he can read what is in our hearts. No one can hide the truth from him--except, perhaps, Albus Dumbledore. Ironic, isn't it? Dumbledore, the only person who can hide things from the Dark Lord, has no reason to, because he couldn't care less what the Dark Lord thinks of him.

"But we who wear his Mark--we do fear him. Or we should."

Severus looked down at his Dark Mark. "But if I feared him more than I wished to rise with him, I wouldn't be here."

Lucius gave a small smile. "We should all look upon it as you do."

"I didn't have to take the Dark Mark. He gave me a choice. I chose him."

"Oh, of course. So did I. So did we all. But some change their minds. Who knows why? Perhaps they don't have enough of that healthy fear. Or enough fear to keep them healthy. The point is, some think they can back out, abandon the Dark Lord and his service. That is impossible."

"Yes. The Dark Lord made that clear to me before I agreed to join him."

"He always does make it clear. At some point," said Lucius. 'And yet there are those who have thought they could desert him. A few have even thought they could betray him. _That _is insane. Ours is a job for life. You don't back out. You don't resign, you don't get sacked. If you fail the Lord, he punishes you. If you abandon him, he kills you. If you betray him--well, let's just say you will wish he would kill you a little faster."

So _those_ stories weren't hysterical, at any rate. "I have no intention of doing any of those things." Severus paused. "You didn't think I would, did you?"

Lucius shifted to gaze directly at him. He was, Severus realised, actually pondering the question. "I didn't when I suggested you to the Dark Lord," he said presently. "I also didn't think, after all you've done, that you would actually retain enough Light magic to make it difficult for you to take the Dark Mark. I can't imagine where it all comes from. But the Dark Lord esteems you as highly as he can esteem anyone, and I trust his judgement. So no, I don't think you'd do any of those things. You're not mad enough to destroy yourself."

"Not quite."

Lucius grinned. "Encouraging." He got to his feet and looked at his watch. "Dear, dear. I must run, but stay as long as you like, won't you? There's breakfast in the morning room." He returned the watch to his waistcoat pocket and went to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned. "And don't forget: the meeting's here on Tuesday at nine o'clock."

"I won't. Thank you, Lucius."

As soon as Lucius left, Severus all but leaped from the bed, bathed quickly and threw on his clothes. He'd make some excuse, any excuse, but he was not staying for breakfast. He'd eaten here before, he'd lived here before, for weeks. But the brand burned in his arm. He wanted to look long at his new Dark Mark, but he knew that when he did, the red fire and black smoke would roll again across his vision, the thunder pound anew inside his head. He couldn't eat a thing, he told himself. What he meant was he couldn't stay at Malfoy Manor for another moment after what had happened to him last night. He couldn't return until he had comprehended what had happened to him. So he left quickly, saying something to Narcissa about a queasy stomach and too much work at the hospital, forgetting in the next moment what he'd said, or that he'd said anything at all. All he thought about was getting away, so that he could take in that he had become a Death Eater, so that he could understand it before his first Death Eater meeting, next Tuesday at nine o'clock, at Malfoy Manor.


	25. Chapter 25

**Meeting Meed**

June 1976

Severus opened his eyes on a bedroom even bleaker than the one he slept in at home, with his stomach feeling even emptier than usual. Then he remembered. He was in a Trainee's Room at St Mungo's Hospital, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to take him to the Head Healer, who would prepare him for life imprisonment in Azkaban, because he couldn't imagine how any of them--Dumbledore, the Head Healer or himself--would ever work out how to heal James Potter.

At least, if they all failed, Potter would be out of his life for good. But then Dementors would come into his life--also for good--and he couldn't see how that would be an improvement.

Severus got out of bed, washed and dressed, then went to the window. He nudged the flimsy curtain aside and looked out. Muggles thronged the street below, striding purposefully along the pavement and riding in cars and buses on the road. Few of them spared so much as a glance for Purge and Dowse, Ltd., the dowdy department store with the "Closed for Refurbishment" sign in the window.

The pedestrians were as varied as they were numerous. Severus saw a group of middle-aged women intent on a serious day's shopping. He saw men in three-piece suits carrying briefcases and consulting watches. Here were two girls in saris as bright as summer flowers, giggling behind their hands, there an imposing ebony man in a dashiki. Behind the dashiki-clad man came someone in a frock coat with a luxurious white beard. The bearded man turned into the walk that led to Purge and Dowse, heading straight for the ground floor window.

Professor Dumbledore. Severus saw his face just before the headmaster disappeared beneath a ledge. He waited for the knock on his door, and in a few minutes it came. He opened the door, and there stood Dumbledore.

The headmaster beamed as if the one thing he wanted was to see Severus. "Good morning!" He gestured Severus into the hallway. "The Head Healer awaits."

Severus followed Professor Dumbledore into the corridor, trying to quiet the fluttering of his stomach. He wasn't going to the Dementors, he told himself. Not yet.

"I hope you slept well?" Dumbledore said as they headed for the stairwell.

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Good. I didn't, I'm afraid. There was a raucous party in the Cauldron common room, must have lasted till two in the morning. Dragon-keepers' convention, from what I could gather. I suppose you live your leisure to the fullest when your work could kill you any day. Here we go." Dumbledore opened the door to the stairwell, and he and Severus began their climb. "We'll be breakfasting in the Trustees' Dining Room with Healer Meed. It's on the sixth floor."

"I thought there were only five floors to the hospital?"

"Oh, yes, that's what the sign says in the lobby. The sixth-floor staircase is Disillusioned too. The Trustees' view is that as they've paid well for their privacy, they shouldn't be disturbed."

They climbed the stairs to the sixth floor landing. Professor Dumbledore took out his wand and, laying it across his palms, lifted it before a door with no knob, sign or nameplate. In a moment the door swung open.

Professor Dumbledore and Severus walked through to a large, airy room. Sunlight shining through tall windows sparkled on glass chandeliers. Tables covered with snow-white cloths were laid with china and silver. A few house-elves waited unobtrusively against the wall. At one of the tables sat a woman with the blackest hair Severus had ever seen, drinking tea from a fragile-looking cup. Otherwise, the dining room was empty.

The woman lowered her cup and smiled at the headmaster. With Severus tagging behind, Dumbledore approached her table.

"Constance."

She extended her hand and Dumbledore took it. "Good morning, Albus." She looked behind him at Severus and smiled. "Severus, I believe?"

Severus looked around Dumbledore's left side at Constance Meed. Her eyes drew him in at once. They were huge, larger than they had any right to be, hardly able to fit within her face He blinked in disbelief, and when he looked again, he realised his own eyes had played tricks on him. Healer Meed's eyes were indeed large, round and of differing shades of grey which hinted at depths. They were otherwise perfectly normal.

Dumbledore looked at him pointedly. "Er, yes," said Severus.

"Severus Snape, Constance," said Dumbledore. "Severus, this is Healer Meed."

"How do you do, Severus," said Healer Meed. Her voice was calm, pleasantly modulated, with a tone that a sick person might find quite soothing. Her gaze was anything but. Severus felt she saw straight into his heart. He felt that sometimes when Dumbledore looked at him, but Healer Meed's look was noontime sun compared to Dumbledore's flickering wandlight.

"It's called Legilimency," said Healer Meed. "Won't you sit down?"

Dumbledore gave him another pointed look, and the heat rushed to Severus's face. "Erm--hello--yes."

Severus slid into a seat next to Professor Dumbledore, opposite Healer Meed. The house-elves swarmed their table with plates of bacon, eggs and toast and pots of coffee and tea. "If I recall, Legilimency isn't taught at Hogwarts," said Healer Meed. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've read about it."

"Good. My specialty is Psychic Healing, so Legilimency is my stock-in-trade. Those who suffer from the various magical madnesses aren't often able to articulate what's troubling them. Sometimes they can't even talk. Legilimency helps me find out what I need to know without talking."

Severus nodded in reply. He couldn't talk either, for, his hunger raging, he'd stuffed his mouth with toast and scrambled eggs. He hadn't eaten since dinner last evening, before he had trailed Remus Lupin into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. It seemed ages ago, and not only because it felt like ages since he'd had something to eat.

"So you're the young man who invented the spell that cut James Potter," said Healer Meed.

Another forkful of eggs was half-way to Severus's mouth. He set it down and studied the food piled on his plate . "Yes."

"James is on a regime of Blood-Replenisher Potion," said Healer Meed. "He's holding his own for the moment, but unfortunately the effectiveness of Blood-Replenisher wears off over time. If you and I don't find a way to heal him, he will die."

Severus met the strange, multi-layered grey of Healer Meed's eyes, then stole a glance at Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore, calmly sipping a cup of coffee, looked as though he hadn't heard a single word Healer Meed had said.

"I don't know how," Severus said to Healer Meed.

"Finish your breakfast, then, so that we can start to learn."

At the word "breakfast", Severus's hunger came roaring back. After a few minutes of very serious work, he was finished.

So was Healer Meed. Professor Dumbledore was still drinking his coffee, but Healer Meed paid no attention to him. Her eyes fixed on Severus, she seemed to have forgotten Dumbledore was there. "Before we begin, I shall have to examine your magic. Do you understand?"

"Professor Dumbledore told me you would search my memories." Severus darted another look at Dumbledore. The headmaster, having set down his cup, was watching them both.

"Well, yes, that, eventually," said Healer Meed. "If we find it's worth our while. But you're the one who has to create the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. If you've mutilated your magic so far to the Dark that you can't do it, we might as well not waste our time."

Severus slumped back in his chair and included Dumbledore with Meed in his look of resentment. "Why did I have to come here if nobody knows whether I can do what I came here for?"

"To find out, obviously," said Meed. "As a preliminary, at least."

"I'm afraid I didn't have time to go into all the details with Severus," said Dumbledore. "The circumstances, you understand. Besides, we were both--somewhat overwrought."

"To be sure. Well, the finding-out isn't so bad," Healer Meed said to Severus. "I use Legilimency to enter your magical heart, which is the term the old Healers used to refer to the parts of the mind and soul devoted to magic. Once there, I examine your magic to determine whether it and the well you draw it from are Light or Dark--or, as is the case for most of us, a bit of both." Her face relaxed into a wry smile. Seeing it, Severus felt his resentment drain away. "I've mixed my metaphors, but I hope you understand?"

"I think so," said Severus. He'd never heard of anything like it before.

"Perhaps we'd better get it over with, then, eh? The first step, at any rate. So if you're finished with breakfast--" Severus glanced down at his spotless plate "--and if Professor Dumbledore will excuse us, we could go to my office for the examination."

Severus looked anxiously at Dumbledore. He'd been strangely retiring. It was so unlike him not to have dominated the conversation. But he only nodded and said, "Certainly, Constance. I'll be back at the Cauldron if you need me. I've some letters to write."

Severus and Healer Meed left the sixth floor and returned to the same corridor in which the Trainee's Room where Severus had slept was located. She had been a commanding presence in the dining room, so that, walking beside her, Severus was surprised to see that she reached no higher than his shoulder. At the end of the corridor, they came to a polished oak door. Healer Meed opened it and gestured Severus over the threshold.

He stepped into Healer Meed's office, a room which, though windowless, felt even airier than the Trustees' dining room. A gentle breeze moved across his face, carrying an early-summer scent of open sky and flower-laden meadow. The office seemed designed to soothe. Gleaming cherry bookshelves lined leaf-green walls. Candle-filled crystal globes like the ones in the lobby and corridors hovered near the ceiling, but instead of emitting the bright glare or sickly fluorescence Severus was used to seeing, these globes shone with a soft golden light. A couple of peaceful landscapes and a portrait of a competent-looking Healer in a mob cap hung on the walls. There was a modest-looking desk, a couple of puffily-cushioned armchairs and a simple pewter Pensieve on a counter in the corner. A silver-white mist swirled above the surface of the Pensieve, as if the Pensieve couldn't contain all the memories it held.

"Sit down," said Healer Meed, gesturing toward an armchair. Severus sat. The Head Healer pulled up the other armchair and sat across from him. For a few moments, she regarded him. To Severus, her eyes had the shifting, fitful appearance of the sea on a cloudy day.

"Roll your sleeve above your left elbow and give me your left hand, please," said Healer Meed.

Severus did so. She took his hand and placed her own left hand on the inside of Severus's forearm.

For a moment, sinuous white cloud like the mist above the Healer's Pensieve flowed across Severus's sight. Then the cloud parted, and--

--there was Dad howling at Mum, his mouth twisted, his teeth all yellow and jagged, spit flying, looking like a monster, scaring Sev, scaring Mum so she crouched away and forgot about her wand. She could do anything with her wand, but Dad made her forget it _again_, so Sev started to cry....

There was the first day of flying class with the other Slytherins and Madam Hooch. Severus had never seen a flying-broom before, much less flown one, like the kids from wizarding families, like the pure-bloods, like Maddy Urquhart, who laughed her rotten head off when the broom threw him....

Lily_, Lily,_ seeing him at Potter's feet, choking on pink soap bubbles..._Sectumsempra_, take that, you bastard...his feet in the air, his robes falling round his ears, the blood rushing to his head, _Potter stole my spell!_

_"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_

_Potter obeys Lily as he obeys no one else, because he wants her more than anyone else, oh, yes; Severus understands. Potter's Liberacorpus dumps him on the ground and Potter says, "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus--"_

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"_

Enough. Severus willed that Healer Meed should see no more.

He let her take him into sixth year instead. The Firewhip, its fury meant for Potter but landing on Pettigrew. The ice crystals of Madame Pomfrey's Refrigeratus Charm flowing from her wand into Pettigrew's burned skin. Detention in the matron's garden, piling mulch around the herbs....

Then darkness drew across his mind's eye like a curtain. He felt a ruffling at the drape, as of someone handling it, trying to pull it back, but it went nowhere. The blackness remained complete, as if he had closed his eyes in a dark room. He was blind a moment or two longer, then the darkness faded and light rose in his mind: the silver light of the full moon. Severus was Levitating a twig toward the knob at the base of the Whomping Willow, his head full of what Black had said:

_"That's where Remus Lupin goes on the night of the full moon. You do what I say, and you can follow him."_

He did what Black said. He followed Remus Lupin. And he found the wolf.

_Oh, no, the wolf._

Sheer terror, then, with no sight, only feeling. Memory swam back into focus with the sound of Potter's voice.

_"Stun him! With me...we both need to hit him!"_

The red flash of twinned spells, the werewolf's collapse, the race through the tunnel, hands scrabbling at the Whomping Willow's knot, and they were through. But relief, sheer joy in the sweet night air, soon turned to a rage like none that Severus in all his angry days had ever known.

_"If you think Sirius's dad and my dad are going to let Dumbledore take the word of a greasy little jumped-up half-blood over ours, you'd better think again.... Why do you think you can do __any__ of it when it's __my__ dad, not __yours__, who's Dumbledore's friend?"_

Potter brought it all on himself. He deserved--

_"Sectumsempra!" _

Light flashed, Potter fell bleeding and silvery mist drifted across Severus's mind's eye. The mist shredded. Severus saw Healer Meed's face and felt her hand slip from his forearm.

"So that's how it happened."

Severus's arm was warm where her hand had lain. He rubbed it and moved back in the chair as far as he could.

Healer Meed looked at him thoughtfully. "And then there were the Dark patches."

"Dark patches?"

"You didn't notice?"

"The--the blind spots, you mean? I was blind for a minute or so."

"Yes. Patches of darkness in your soul. Behind them is something you want to keep to yourself, even more than you want to hide what you did to James Potter. Something darker than your anger. Something colder."

"I hid something from you?" Severus said in surprise.

"Oh, yes. You can hide anything from me if you really want to, if you don't mind failing at what we're trying to do."

If he didn't mind expulsion and Azkaban. "What was it?" Severus asked.

"The memory of an evil you participated in. Something more evil than your casting of Sectumsempra. That's all I know."

Severus didn't answer. He looked away from Healer Meed to sort through his memories. She'd gone through them chronologically. The first was his very first memory of Tobias rowing with Mother, so long ago he couldn't remember what they'd fought about. All that had stayed with him was fear and the howling monster.

Severus shut the memory down. But the memory Healer Meed had ended with was hardly better, the Sectumsempra that might end as murder....

The point was, Severus could probably deduce what lay beneath the Dark patches. Nothing about Lily, he reckoned. The darkness covered "something colder", Healer Meed had said, and none of his memories about Lily were cold.

_Let's see,_ he thought. The memory before the Dark patch had been of him doing detention in Madam Pomfrey's garden.

On the day he'd collected a starling, a vole and a rabbit for Ruskin and Lestrange to practise on.

_Something colder, _and the darkness was ripped back, like a curtain by an invisible hand, revealing the secret Firewhip lesson he'd given to Olaus Ruskin and Rabastan Lestrange and his use of Sectumsempra to kill the rabbit Lestrange had burned.

_--watching the Firewhip-roasted rabbit bleed its life out into the frost-bitten grass. "I do good work, don't I?" Lestrange says, and in a way you can't help but agree._

Then, the even more secret Sectumsempra lesson he had given to Ruskin alone.

"_It's not easy to limit a spell that can kill you if you'll just give it its head. It's like it develops a mind of its own."_

Ruskin had got it. It hadn't taken him long at all to learn Sectumsempra. He was a natural. And the whole time he'd been his usual cool and amiable self. While learning Sectumsempra, he'd hated no one in the way that Severus, while inventing it, had hated James Potter .

At least, not so that Severus had noticed.

_Something colder._ Severus looked up at Healer Meed.

"You know what I'm talking about," she said.

Severus nodded.

"You don't have to tell me," she said. "I know enough. Do you think you can find your own way back to the Trainee's Room, to wait for a bit? I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore before we can go on."

----

"I don't know that he instigated it," said Healer Meed to Professor Dumbledore, "but to fail to oppose evil can be as bad as doing evil. You know that."

Professor Dumbledore knew it very well. "Should Severus tell you what lies beneath the Dark patches? I can urge him to do so if you'd like."

"Urge him? He'll only take it as a threat. No. Let him keep his secret. I'm not here to psychically heal Severus Snape, but to save James Potter's life. All I need is proof that Severus can help me do that, because--flatter me as you like--I don't think I can do it alone."

"And what proof would be sufficient?"

"Let him show he isn't Dark at his roots. I think your own method's best; I'm surprised you haven't thought of it yourself. See if you can teach him how to conjure a Patronus."

Professor Dumbledore blinked. He had indeed not thought of it himself.

"Isn't that one of the ways you vet prospective members of the Order?" asked Healer Meed. "Because no one evil enough to become a Death Eater can conjure a Patronus."

"You're well informed," said Professor Dumbledore.

"Better than I'd like, sometimes."

"And if I can't teach him? That doesn't make him evil. Just because you can't conjure a Patronus doesn't mean you're a Dark wizard."

"No. It might only mean you're weak. Severus Snape is not weak."

"You have me there," murmured Professor Dumbledore.

"Will you do it, then?"

Professor Dumbledore thought of James Potter lying in his secluded hospital bed, his eyes closed, his face looking too pale to belong to a boy still in life. "I suppose I must."


	26. Chapter 26

**Eileen Ascending**

Winter 1980

The Knight Bus must have sensed Severus's need, for it _banged!_ into the road in front of him as soon as the gates of Malfoy Manor clanged shut behind him. The desire to get back home, to the quiet little flat where he could be alone, utterly free and completely himself, must have blazed from his mind.

The Knight Bus's leaps toward London were less jarring than usual that morning. Severus stared out the window, watching countryside, then suburb fly past, until at his request the driver deposited him in the park across from his block. He bought a roll at a nearby bakery for breakfast and tramped the park until the wind, like an early spring-cleaning broom, swept the last of the cobwebby mists from his mind. Then he returned to his tiny, spotless flat, very like the flat he had lived in before Mother had come to him in London and they had moved to Linden Lane.

He fell on his bed and slept the afternoon away, through the night and into the dawn of the next morning, when he rose and returned to work.

---

The next few days passed in a frenzied whirlwind of work. St Mungo's was bursting at the seams with patients, and an avalanche of orders fell upon the Potions and Physics Department. Hurrying from ward to ward to make his deliveries, Severus had no time to linger in any one spot. But he spent long enough in A&E, restocking their depleted Potions cabinet, to see the ambulance arrive carrying a young wizard whose mind had been ground to powder by the Cruciatus Curse. As a grim and pale Sage consigned the sobbing, gibbering wizard to the Psychic Healers, Severus caught the fragments of Crandall and Everett's mutterings: "...Must-Not-Be-Named...Death Eaters...poor sod wouldn't join them...sign me up, I'd have said, the minute they threatened to curse _me_...."

They couldn't have been more right. Severus snapped the cabinet doors shut and pushed the trolley toward the corridor. The Ministry were panicked. The Aurors were killing now, but not fast enough. They were too late, and besides they couldn't beat the Dark Lord at that game. The Dark Lord was winning, and it was better, as Severus had learned long ago, to be on the winning side.

Lily was out of it, safe at home with the complications of pregnancy. The thought surprised Severus, nearly as much as its accompanying notion, that there was something than which pregnancy complications could be safer.

---

Severus's next day off was a Monday. He spent the evening eating dinner with his mother, at her flat in a tiny wizarding close not far from his own (thoroughly Muggle) neighbourhood.

Her flat was the tidiest place he could ever remember her living in: it positively sparkled with cleanliness. Even in the earliest days Severus could remember, when Mother had tried her hardest, the family had lived surrounded by clutter. As a child, Severus had generated his share of messes, and the slovenly Tobias, whether he was laid off or not, had never lifted a finger around the house.

But Mother had none of those obstacles to worry about now. Severus was all grown up and Tobias was dead.

On the gleaming table in the modern dining nook, Mother set a chop, vegetables and wine before Severus, then sat down across from him to the same meal.

With the feeling that the frustrations of the Potions and Physics Department were better left there, Severus avoided conversation about his work. Knowing that Mother liked to hear that he was comfortable, he talked up his new neighbourhood instead: the park, the bakery, the bright shops, the clean and tree-lined streets. He even spoke of visiting Malfoy Manor, since Mother had enjoyed hearing how the influential Lucius Malfoy favoured him--although he left out the details of what had happened to him there.

"Oh, you went to the Malfoys?" said Mother, smiling pleasantly. "And did you see Narcissa?"

"Briefly," said Severus.

"Did she look well? How is she feeling?"

Severus wasn't prepared to be interrogated about Narcissa Malfoy, or anybody else at Malfoy Manor, for that matter. "She seemed well enough." He forced a smile. "But you must know more than I do, since you see her more often."

"Well, actually I don't. I haven't seen Narcissa or her family since I moved into the flat. The Blacks and Malfoys have dropped me, I'm afraid." Mother gave a small laugh.

"Nonsense--!"

Mother raised a hand. "No, really, Severus, it's all right. I'm surprised they stood by us as long as they did--letting us stay at Malfoy Manor after we were evicted from Linden Lane. And when your father died, Druella and Narcissa were so incredibly good. But you couldn't expect them to keep up the connection after I'd left the Manor, after I was on my feet again."

"Why not? You're every bit as good as they are--"

Again Mother raised her hand. "Of course, Severus. We both are."

"Well, not really. I'm a half-blood."

"As are most witches and wizards, if they're not Muggle-borns. As were many of my friends, when I had friends, at school."

"You had half-blood friends?"

"And Muggle-born friends. Just like you. I remember that pretty little red-haired girl who used to come round--Lily Evans, that was her name. Her family were Muggles."

Severus gazed at his mother, trying to imagine her young once, a schoolgirl with friends. He tried to remember himself, younger still, bringing Lily to the house in Spinner's End. He'd only done that once or twice at the holidays, before he'd grown into a teenager and the rows with Tobias had got truly fierce.

"I've found an old school friend of mine lives right here in the close. Doris Hitchens. We've had lunch together, gone shopping a few times. Should I avoid her company just because she's a Muggle-born? I, who married a Muggle?"

"Have you heard from the Blacks or Malfoys at all since you moved in?" Severus asked.

"No."

So they _had_ dropped her, as quickly as they'd befriended her.

"No, Severus," Mother repeated. "And I don't want you saying anything to Lucius and Narcissa about it." As if there were any chance he would! "I've been enough trouble to them. I won't trouble them any more."

Before, Mother would have spoken those words tremulously, hunching her shoulders as she did so. Now her voice was firm, her back straight, and it occurred to Severus that she wanted no more to do with the Malfoys than they wanted to do with her.

Why, when they'd been "so incredibly good?" Narcissa had comforted Mother, Lucius had protected her when Tobias's antics had led Mrs Watkins to evict Mother and Severus from Linden Lane, when a drunken row with Will Paxton had ended in Tobias's death.

_"It's odd...I told Auror Scrimgeour Tobias would have quarrelled with anybody, because he would. But I never did know him to row with Will Paxton...."_

Until Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix's brother-in-law, Lucius and Narcissa's friend, had egged Paxton on with an Imperius Curse. But no one would have told Mother that. No one would have wanted to disturb her hard-won peace.

"Old-fashioned, pure-blood society...it's limited, to be honest," Mother was saying. "You understand, working at St Mungo's as you do, rubbing shoulders with all kinds of people...and Doris, she's still in touch with some of my old Gobstones teammates, Ruth Leary, Josiah Crawley...."

Severus looked away. The Malfoys would have looked upon Tobias as a grievous offence. More so than Mother would have done, since they had never loved him. The traditional pure-blood families believed they had the right to dispose of Muggle offences as they saw fit. Mother was acquainted with that over-arching principle, however ignorant of certain details she might have been. So she didn't want to associate with the Malfoys any longer.

What better way to escape the Malfoys than to return to your old Muggle-born and half-blood school friends?

"Your old Gobstones teammates. How nice for you." Severus lied, for he couldn't think it nice, couldn't believe it good in any way that Mother should return to the same kind of associates who might have brought her to Tobias Snape. But she was his mother and she wanted, not Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, but Doris Hitchens, Ruth Leary and Josiah Crawley as her friends. So Severus listened politely to Mother talk about the Muggle-borns and half-bloods with whom she had decided to renew her acquaintance.

They finished dinner. Mother tried to press coffee on Severus after the washing-up was done, but he demurred, saying he had to make an early night of it. That much was the truth. He had work the next day, and after work he'd go to the Malfoys', for they hadn't dropped _him._ On the contrary, Severus would be their honoured guest at Malfoy Manor for his first meeting with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.


	27. Chapter 27

**A Parlour at the Leaky Cauldron**

June 1976

Severus returned to the Trainee's Room. _"I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore before we can go on," _Healer Meed had said. It was enough to make him forget about the parade of humanity passing by beneath the window, in the street before Purge and Douse. Leaving the window-curtains closed, he sat on the narrow bed and stared at his hands in his lap.

He could just hear Meed and Dumbledore's conversation: _"He's angry, hateful, cold and full of Dark patches. I can't do a thing with him. I don't know why you bothered to bring him here."_

_"Ah, well, it will have to be expulsion, then. And I'll ask the Warden of Azkaban to get a cell ready...."_

He had nearly killed Potter, because Potter had nearly killed him and had expected to get away with it. Whenever Severus thought of it, fury boiled up in him anew, and he could not imagine doing anything other than he had done. And so here he sat, waiting to pay for it, waiting for his life to be ruined forever. If he lived at all. They said people didn't last long around the Dementors.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Severus looked up.

"Severus?" said Professor Dumbledore's voice.

It was over. With a sigh, Severus went to the door and opened it.

There stood the Headmaster. "May I come in?"

Severus stepped aside, and Dumbledore entered the Trainee's Room.

"Severus," he began, "we're leaving St Mungo's to--"

"Washing her hands of me, is she?" Severus said.

"I'm sorry?"

"She can't do anything with me. I've got Dark patches, so you're both getting rid of me. But then James Potter will die, and...and...." Severus couldn't finish.

"If I understand you correctly, you are saying that you believe Healer Meed has given up on you and that we have both decided to dismiss you. Although I must say, I don't see where I'd have a hand in it."

"Well, she's decided, then. Hasn't she?"

Dumbledore gazed at Severus over the top of his glasses. Severus looked away uneasily. He should have kept his mouth shut. He'd all but invited Dumbledore to prod him about those Dark patches and what lay behind them, and that was most definitely not a good idea.

"Healer Meed has decided nothing," said Dumbledore. "She sensed in you an experience with Dark magic which may have twisted your soul so much that you are incapable of creating a counter to Sectumsempra. You can understand that if that's the case, we're only wasting her time."

Dumbledore had decided, then. _Couldn't wait to expel me, could you? I suppose Potter's father made a special request. _Severus clamped his jaw tight to keep the words behind his teeth.

"And so I came," Dumbledore went on, "to tell you you're coming with me to room at the Leaky Cauldron, because it will be easier for me there to teach you how to conjure a Patronus."

"Conjure a Patronus?" What did that have to do with anything?

"Yes, conjure a Patronus. If you can do that, I am sure you have it in you to do anything Healer Meed requires, including heal James Potter. And that you need to do as quickly as you can, so come along. We have no time to waste."

****

"I'll have your things sent here from Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said as he and Severus entered the pub. Following Dumbledore to the bar, Severus saw the landlord give Dumbledore a toothlessly obsequious grin.

"I hope you were able to reserve the room next to mine, Tom?" Dumbledore asked the landlord.

"Yes, sir, for the young gent--?" Tom transferred his unnerving smile to Severus. "Do I have the pleasure--?"

"Yes, Tom, this is my guest, Severus Snape," said Dumbledore. "And may I reserve a parlour as well?"

"Certainly, sir. For the evening?"

Dumbledore looked Severus up and down, then said, "For the entire day. After that, we'll see."

"An entire day?" Tom's grin grew wider, exposing uninhabited gums. "I'll have to ask for a two-Galleon deposit, then, sir. So you can come and go as you please."

"So we can come and go as we please," Dumbledore repeated with a small sigh. "So kind of you to consider our convenience." He took three Galleons from a change purse of flowery brocade and dropped them into the landlord's eager hands. "There. That should include the price of lunch and a pitcher of butterbeer."

Tom examined the coins so closely Severus half-expected him to bite them. "So it does, sir." He dropped the gold into the drawer of an ancient cash register, took a tarnished key from a hook on the wall behind the bar and handed it to Dumbledore. "For the day, sir."

"Thank you. This way, Severus." Dumbledore led Severus down a narrow passageway to a room with a dining table, chairs and a couple of armchairs before a fireplace. In the warmth of the early summer afternoon, the fireplace was empty.

The landlord arrived, wearing an apron of questionable cleanliness and carrying a tray of roast beef sandwiches and butterbeer. After he had left, Dumbledore handed Severus a sandwich and poured him a glass of butterbeer.

Severus didn't eat or drink. "What's so special about conjuring a Patronus?"

Dumbledore finished filling his own glass. "You sound as though conjuring Patronuses is something you do every day."

"And you sound as though you think I'm still a child. I'm not; I'm seventeen, I'm of age."

"True." Dumbledore began eating his lunch. "And so what do you want of me as a result of--or perhaps in homage to--your new maturity?"

"An answer to my question," said Severus. He felt angry and heady with insolence. "What's so special about conjuring a Patronus?"

"I was coming to that." Dumbledore set down his half-eaten sandwich and sighed. "I'm sorry. Much has happened to you in the past few days. Your strengths--and your weaknesses--have brought you to what must seem a very strange pass. Healer Meed has told me what went on between the two of you. She has gifts that I don't share--that, indeed, I doubt anyone else in the wizarding world possesses--and can therefore speak about them only metaphorically to the rest of us. For as long as I have known her, I have known of nothing her Legilimency could not uncover. If anything in the mind of another is hidden from Constance Meed, it is because she permits it to remain so. She will not invade the privacy of one who truly wishes to keep a secret from her."

"So, the Dark patches--?"

"Were your representation to her of your desire to keep a particular secret. And also, according to her, an indication that you had the power to keep your secret, unless she wished to use force to take it from you."

Memories of Ruskin and Lestrange, of burned and bleeding animals tried to flit across Severus's mind. He pushed them back.

"Healer Meed has not forced a secret from anyone in years," said Dumbledore. "She decided against it long ago." He looked thoughtfully at Severus. "So, although I am very curious about what you hid from Healer Meed, I wouldn't presume to rush in where she has feared to tread, even if I had her abilities. She has said, however, and I can hardly disagree with her, that she needs evidence that you have the innate capacity to create the counter-curse to Sectumsempra. There's no point in your trying to do the impossible. That's where the Patronus comes in."

Dumbledore looked expectantly at Severus, as if he thought it would all fall into place. It didn't.

"Well, perhaps it bodes well that you don't understand," said Dumbledore. "You see, one conjures a Patronus by speaking or thinking the incantation while concentrating on a single, very happy memory. But the thing about being evil, Dark at heart, at the root of your being, is that it makes you incapable of being truly happy. In fact," he added musingly, "the definition of evil might be exactly that: the impossibility of happiness."

"I don't see that at all," said Severus. "Wicked people are happy all the time." Take Tobias, for instance. There was one wicked man, and yet he knew how to have a good time of an evening with his mates at the pub.

"There are wicked people," said Dumbledore, "and there are people who have done wicked things. There is revelry, glee, relish, triumph--and there is true happiness. I trust you to be able to understand the difference, Severus. That is why I invited you here. Eat your lunch; you'll need it."

Suddenly ravenous, Severus obeyed. Dumbledore finished his own sandwich, then stood and drew his wand. Waving it in a sweeping motion, he turned in place to trace a spell over the four walls of the parlour. "There. A good strong Imperturbable Charm. We won't disturb Tom's other guests." He pocketed his wand. "To business, then. Do you understand the purpose of a Patronus?"

"To dispel Dementors and Lethifolds," said Severus, setting down his empty glass of butterbeer.

"Very good. They're interesting creatures, Dementors and Lethifolds. Probably the greatest unthinking agents of chaos we know, capable of complete and utter destruction, the Dementor of the human soul, the Lethifold of the human body. Understandably, then, the conjuring of a Patronus strong enough to drive them off is some of the most advanced magic a wizard can perform, requiring a great deal of confidence and power." Dumbledore smiled a bit ruefully. "I've always considered it odd that the instruction for this magic is quite ridiculously simple. You concentrate with all your might on your single, very happy memory and repeat the incantation: _expecto patronum._"

Severus waited, looking at him.

"So there you are," said Dumbledore. "Give it a try."

Severus took out his wand and sought a happy memory. He thought immediately of Lily. But under Dumbledore's serene and steady gaze, the suspicion grew in him that the headmaster had more of Healer Meed's sort of powers than he wanted to let on. He seemed to have a way of looking straight into Severus's heart. Might he not see there the memory Severus used to conjure a Patronus, a memory of Lily, perhaps, embellished with his longing dreams? No. The very thought made Severus want the earth to open and swallow him. Besides , all his memories of Lily were tainted now, with what they'd said to each other on the night they had collected moon-shifting mushrooms, with her repudiating him for good. No memory of her, he told himself, could be happy enough.

There were other memories, if not many. He remembered one of the first, when he was eight and Tobias had threatened to give him the belt. Why? He couldn't remember. But Mother, hearing his shriek of fear, had Stunned Tobias just as the Muggle's belt was whistling through the air toward his backside. "We're going to Gran's in London and we're never coming back," Mother had declared then, and Severus had believed her, for they'd left the house bags in hand while Tobias still lay flat on the sitting-room rug. There they'd stood in the street, and Severus's heart had filled suddenly with joy. They were leaving, they were _really leaving, _and, unable to contain his happiness, Severus began to run. Legs pumping, heart pounding, lungs drinking in the damp night air, he could run all the way to London, he'd thought, run, run, run....

_"Expecto patronum," _Severus muttered, and a wisp of white vapour rose from the tip of his wand.

"Very good!" said Dumbledore, smiling.

"That's not what they're supposed to look like," said Severus.

"Never mind. It's a start. Try again."

_Running, running, with his hands in the air and his head thrown back, he could __fly__ to Gran Prince's, and Gran will let them stay if Mum's not married to __him__ any more, she __has__ to let them stay...._

_"Expecto patronum," _said Severus, and his wand emitted another bubble of white mist.

"It's coming along," Dumbledore said encouragingly as the mist shredded away, but Severus didn't believe him. The second ball of white mist had looked much like the first, and if that was his very own Patronus, unique to him, there wasn't much to him, was there? _"Expecto patronum!"_ Severus snapped, giving his wand a shake. Nothing came out of it this time.

Dumbledore eyed him with raised brows, and Severus realised he must have looked very stupid, trying to shake a Patronus out of his wand.

"It takes patience," Dumbledore said. "Patience, concentration and a moment of pure happiness. As I said, the Patronus Charm sounds simple, but it's very complex magic. Try it again--perhaps with a different happy memory."

As if he had that many to choose from. Dumbledore didn't seem to get that you had to have good things happen to you in order to have happy memories. Severus averted his eyes, struggling to crush his resentment, and tried again.

_Now Mum's caught up to him, and she's laughing, laughing for the first time in ages, laughing, grabbing Severus's hand and running. She's happy, and so's Severus, so happy he shouts with laughter too--_

_"Expecto patronum." _Another silvery cloud flowed from the tip of Severus's wand. Wait--wasn't that roundness at one end growing ears and a nose, didn't those tendrils look something like legs? But then the cloud broke apart into a shower of sparkling dust and disappeared.

"Better. Better," said Dumbledore. "Try again."

Severus did try again. And again. He accessed every angle of his memory of the first time he and Mother had run away, of the one time he'd actually believed they would escape Tobias, of a time long ago when he was too young to know better. _"Expecto patronum...expecto patronum...expecto patronum..."_

The afternoon wore on, and Severus's wand discharged shapeless mist after shapeless mist. Perhaps his Patronus was a slug--that seemed to be the best he could hope for. More likely, he simply couldn't do it. When that thought came to him, invading his happy memory with its inevitable, fear-stocked corollaries of expulsion and Azkaban, his wand sent forth not a silver cloud, but a hazy grey filament like cigarette smoke.

_You can't do it. _Severus gripped his wand until his knuckles turned white. _"Expecto patronum!" _Nothing happened.

"It's not anger that does it," Dumbledore said in that mild voice of his, and before Severus knew it, he'd flung his wand across the room. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. Dumbledore looked at him and said nothing. His face on fire, Severus summoned the wand back.

"Did you try a different memory?" asked Dumbledore.

"I tried the happiest memory I have," said Severus through gritted teeth. "Reckon you and Meed were right--I'm too evil to be happy."

_"Healer _Meed," said Dumbledore. "You will be good enough, if you please, to speak of her with respect."

"Why? What's she, another Gryffindor? Like you? Like Potter? Like Potter's father, your _friend?"_

"No, Healer Meed is not a Gryffindor. She attended Durmstrang, the only school which provided a curriculum to suit her singular talents." Dumbledore paused. "And does it matter to you so much that I am Harold Potter's friend? That he, James and I are all Gryffindors? Do you think we're all conspiring against you somehow?"

Severus pressed his lips together and said nothing.

"If so, it's a conspiracy to see you succeed. I imagine James doesn't want to die. I can assure you his father and I don't want him to die. You alone can save him, but if you counter Sectumsempra, you shouldn't do it only to save James Potter. You should do it to save yourself."

"I can't counter Sectumsempra! I can't even conjure a Patronus!"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you." Severus stared down at his feet, fiercely longing to trust Dumbledore, to believe him, but the evidence was against him; Severus was getting worse at casting the Patronus Charm, not better.

"Good heavens, it's five o'clock," said Dumbledore. " No wonder we're frazzled."

Severus looked up. Though Dumbledore was looking at a watch in his hand, Severus had no idea how he'd told the time: the watch had not numbers but planets circling its edge, and twelve hands swept confusingly across its face. "Why don't we end our lesson here for the day?" said the headmaster. "Dinner's at seven--you could take a tramp in Diagon Alley till then, if you'd like."

It was better than being cooped up in the parlour, or in his room next to Dumbledore's. Two hours of freedom, during which he wouldn't have to worry about what on earth he would talk about at dinner with his headmaster, the friend of the man whose son he'd nearly killed. "Right," muttered Severus, all but dashing out the door, grabbing that freedom while he could.


	28. Chapter 28

**Among the Chosen**

Late Winter, 1980

Severus could almost believe that Lucius Malfoy , the son of a St Mungo's Trustee, could affect the work load in the Potions and Physics Department. This particular Tuesday in late February was the easiest day he'd had since Christmas. Even Accident and Emergency had pestered him with very few calls. Perhaps the Death Eaters weren't getting themselves involved in anything they couldn't extricate themselves from easily because they didn't want to be late for the meeting tonight.

Just like Severus himself.

He reported to Bermsley and left the Department on the stroke of seven. He couldn't remember when that had happened last. It gave him time to go home, eat his solitary dinner and bathe. After the bath usually came bed and immediate, exhausted sleep. Not tonight. Tonight, he ventured to guess, sleep would come late, if it came at all.

He was ready well before eight-thirty, when he planned on stepping into his fireplace and Flooing to Malfoy Manor. He had time to think, and he expected the Dark Lord to dominate his thoughts. But it was Lucius who came to mind, Lucius showing him for the first time, in the peaceful winter garden of Malfoy Manor, the black, shining brand of the Dark Mark on his arm; the trembling of Lucius's hands and the recklessness in his eyes as he willingly took up the role of the guinea pig upon whom Severus proved his worthiness to the Dark Lord; Lucius lying in a pool of blood on the floor of his well-appointed library.

He was like Ruskin. Ruskin, who had feared and admired the Dark Lord's power, the power with which he had threatened James Potter. Ruskin, who had worshipped the Dark Lord with such devotion as to die for him.

Lucius shared Ruskin's fear and admiration, but he was far too canny to share in Ruskin's half-mad devotion. He was like Severus, perhaps, one who hoped the Dark Lord could take him to heights he'd never reach on his own.

Did the Dark Lord speak to Lucius, understand Lucius as he understood Severus? How could he? He was a half-blood, like Severus, with an ambition suggesting that he, like Severus, had been brought up far from Lucius's world. That the Lord could understand Severus himself seemed unreal, somehow, now that Severus was not with him, gazing into bloody, slit-pupilled eyes, listening to a voice that at once frightened and mesmerised.

Mesmerisation came and went. Fear was Severus's consistent reaction, the emotion steady and immoveable, whether he was with or away from the Dark Lord. What he saw with nearly every delivery to Accident and Emergency proved it was the logical reaction as well. The corpses, the minds and bodies twisted by torture showed that Voldemort was winning his war against the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix. He was scything down his enemies like so much ripe wheat. Better not to be among them. Better to be inside the Dark Lord's fold when the dust settled, not outside, in the deadly cold.

Severus wandered restlessly from his tiny kitchen into the sitting room, where the clock on the mantelpiece read eight-thirty. Time to go, he thought, taking a handful of Floo powder from the tin, for it was also better to be early to his first Death Eater meeting rather than late.

****

Severus stepped from the fireplace into the library at Malfoy Manor. Lucius rose immediately from an armchair to meet him. He was alone, but Severus heard the sound of glasses clinking and the buzz of conversation in another part of the house.

"Good, you're early," Lucius said. "The Lord hasn't arrived yet." He started for the door. "We're in the drawing room. We always meet there."

Severus followed, not without reluctance, for the drawing room, with its glaring portraits, Victorian wall-covering and marble fireplace struck him as a lugubrious place. It was, even under the candle-laden chandelier, as heavily dark as ever. But with the uncomfortable furniture pushed up against the wall and a large table set up in the centre, it otherwise looked quite different.

There were some thirty people standing around the table. Some held glasses of iced water--the source of the tinkling Severus had heard--and there were pitchers filled with more water on the table. Untypically for a gathering at Malfoy Manor--at least, one hosted by old Abraxas--there was no alcohol. But then, neither was Abraxas Malfoy anywhere to be seen.

Heads turned when they entered. "Good evening, all!" said Lucius cheerily, and more heads turned. Severus was astonished to see an Assistant Minister whose photograph and pronouncements often appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ and a Chaser for a well-known Quidditch club whose exploits were chronicled weekly in the paper's sports pages. And wasn't that Augustus Rookwood, the Slytherin who had been Head Boy in Severus's first year at Hogwarts? He'd been in the paper recently too, something about a promotion--

"Sorry for abandoning you to your own devices," Lucius was saying to his guests, "but I wanted to greet our newest member personally."

There were Fordon Avery, Douglas Wilkes, Maxwell Mulciber, who raised his hand in a casual salute, and Evan Rosier, whose smile of recognition lit up the room which candles and fire had failed to brighten.

"Many of you know him already. For those of you who don't, allow me to introduce Severus Snape."

Rabastan Lestrange turned to look, his brows slightly raised. Memories rushed into Severus's mind: Rabastan Lestrange and Olaus Ruskin, inseparable in the Slytherin common room, in the shops of Hogsmeade, on the Quidditch pitch. And in the classroom too, Severus didn't doubt. Certainly in his classroom, under the open air beside the Forbidden Forest, where Severus had taught them how to cast the Firewhip.

Rodolphus was standing beside his brother, his face so wooden that it seemed paralysed. Beside Rodolphus stood his wife, Bellatrix, whose look startled Severus with its sheer malevolence.

Bellatrix's good humour while he and Mother had stayed with the Malfoys had been just as startling, to be sure. Severus had concluded that she had been trying to please Druella, who had resumed her friendship with Mother, for the feeling he normally expected Bellatrix Black Lestrange to have toward a Snape--any Snape--was contempt. Her hatred was more of a compliment. It meant she actually thought he was worth her notice.

If the hatred were really there. Severus had looked away, pretending not to notice anything unusual. When he glanced back a few moments later, Bellatrix's face was as frozen as her husband's.

But then she turned slightly at the _pop!_ of Apparition, and her eyes lit up as brilliantly as Evan Rosier's. All eyes followed hers, to a smoky swirl which resolved into hooded robes. Beneath the hood a thin face gleamed pale and translucent, like mother-of-pearl. Whatever Anti-Apparition charms Lucius and his father had placed around Malfoy Manor had not deterred Lord Voldemort.

"My Lord!" breathed Bellatrix.

A thin white hand emerged from Lord Voldemort's sleeve and gave a careless wave. "Bella." The hand went to Voldemort's hood and swept it back.

Bellatrix gazed raptly at the bald, small-eared head, the pale face, the red eyes. As if by instinct, everyone else backed off around either side of the massive table, clearing a space around Voldemort. Even Bellatrix's husband left her side. She stood alone, basking in the glow which in the half-gloom seemed to emanate from the Dark Lord's face.

"Come, Bella. Make yourself comfortable," said Voldemort. His gaze, lighting on the water pitchers, expressed disdain for the concession to thirst which they represented. "Like everyone else here."

Some further back dared to exchange uneasy glances. Those in front, directly beneath the Dark Lord's gaze, kept their eyes fixed with reverent attention upon him.

"Oh, sit down," said Voldemort. "I'm only grateful to Lucius for giving you nothing stronger than water."

With a scraping of chairs, the Death Eaters hurried to obey. Severus, seeking a chair, found one beside Mulciber. "Maxwell," he said with a nod, then pulled the chair from beneath the table to sit down.

"Except for you, Severus." The Dark Lord's voice sliced the air, above the sounds of people settling in. "You remain standing."

Severus did so, resting his hands on the back of the chair. Nervous glances lit upon him like insects, then flitted away again, so many that their anxiety began to infect him.

"Severus Snape, our newest Death Eater," said Voldemort, and all eyes turned toward Severus. "Many of you are already acquainted with him from your shared school days at Hogwarts." The Lord's smile displayed his needle-thin teeth. "The more hysterical of the opinion-makers at the _Prophet_ and in the Ministry are right about one thing: it is mainly Slytherins who are wise enough to follow me." He waved carelessly. "All right, Severus, sit down."

Severus felt a prick of irritation at the casual dismissal, but what he'd seen of the expressions around him told him it was best to smother it, so he did. "Yes, my Lord," he said and sat down.

The Dark Lord coiled himself into the seat at the head of the table. "To business, then. Mulciber." Mulciber set down the glass he'd raised half-way to his lips and straightened apprehensively in his chair.

The Dark Lord hissed a laugh. "My dear Maxwell, can't you tell whether you've earned punishment or praise?"

A tic leaped in Mulciber's cheek. "I--I exist only to serve."

"Yes. You do. And you served me quite well in getting rid of Dirk Thomas."

"Why--thank you, my Lord."

Something like Bellatrix's look of rapture replaced the fear in Mulciber's eyes. Looking at him, Severus felt a stab of distaste. Mulciber had always been rather craven, calling to mind Potter's mousy little friend Pettigrew. The only difference was that Mulciber, in his constant efforts to impress, had occasionally pulled off some good pranks on the weaker Gryffindors. Pettigrew, as Severus recalled, had never done much of anything but trot after Potter in abject worship.

If there was one thing Severus hated, it was cravenness. No one revolted him more than the person who went down on his knees to lap up another's contempt. For that was all that was in the Dark Lord's eyes as they rested on Mulciber--contempt. So Mulciber had disposed of this Dirk Thomas. Killed him, Severus supposed. It would only be a step or two up from what Mulciber used to do in his Hogwarts days.

"And the way you did it," said Voldemort. "Quite discreetly; I didn't think you were capable of that. Everyone who knew Thomas seems to think he walked out on his wife and baby."

Many of the others looked enviously at Mulciber. If they knew anything, they'd envy Severus instead. Severus had drunk wine with the Dark Lord, had shared the secret of his half-blood parentage, had heard the Dark Lord praise his power--

_"I have never known anyone quite like you, balanced on a thread between Light and Dark, powerful in both. You would become one of my most valuable servants if you joined me, highly-regarded and well-rewarded..."_

--and knew that it was he, Severus, upon whom the Dark Lord meant to bestow his favour. Not Mulciber.

So why did the Lord look at Mulciber, why did he speak to Mulciber--

"You force me to admit, Maxwell (Maxwell! The Dark Lord called him Maxwell!), that the thing was quite well done. You didn't leave a shred of evidence for the Aurors."

_Why does he pay attention to Mulciber and not to me?_

Mulciber beamed. He looked as though he were basking in the sun in Majorca. Severus glanced around. Lucius was looking irritably at Mulciber, as if he felt as Severus did about Mulciber's absurdity, while Bellatrix glared murderously. Indeed, everyone seemed to be looking at Mulciber and no one seemed pleased with him, as if they, like Severus, wondered, _Why is the Dark Lord paying attention to __him__?_

A high, cold laugh cut the air. All heads jerked around and all eyes fastened themselves on Voldemort.

"Bella, why the sulk? You know I love you--in my way. Lucius, believe me, I have not forgotten your recent gift. And Antonin, such a long face. Did I not praise you to all my Death Eaters in our last meeting for killing the Prewetts? All of you, I call you my family, but I should say that means my jealous children, jockeying for smiles and caresses from their father!" Voldemort looked around, satisfaction mingling with the amusement in his eyes. "Well, well. Whatever helps you to recall that, like the child to his father, your first duty is to please me."

"Certainly, my Lord." The murmur rippled through the gathering.

"Certainly, my Lord," Voldemort mimicked. A disquieting light entered his eyes. "However, I am not yet pleased. Dirk Thomas and the Prewetts were not my only enemies. What about these Longbottoms, Macnair?" His gaze jumped to a brick wall of a man with dark hair, a moustache and ice-cold eyes. "You're in Magical Law Enforcement, and you never told me about them."

It was easier to watch the Lord's displeasure than his approbation. You didn't long for him to turn his attention to you.

"They're Aurors, my Lord," said Macnair. "I don't know much more about them than that. I'm a hit wizard, different office, you know. Or I was. They transferred me to Magical Creatures." He faltered. "I--er--I'm sorry."

Voldemort looked at him through an electric silence, a silence in which anything could have happened, but didn't. "Yes, well," the Dark Lord said at last, "you were the closest I got to the Auror Office." He rose and strode restlessly about the room, his robes flapping like the wings of a large, slightly uncoordinated bat. Severus found that he did not want to let him out of his sight and so, like the other Death Eaters, watched him closely.

"They defied me. _Me."_ Voldemort's calm cracked and fell away, like a fragile, weather-beaten façade unable to stand up to one last storm. "I wanted Dearborn...How dared they stand in my way, how _dare_ they...I will have Dearborn, I will kill him, if I want to kill someone, I _will--!"_

_"Longbottoms!" _Bellatrix Lestrange spat out the name, as if she couldn't keep it behind her teeth. "If I had them here, my Lord, I would--"

Voldemort whirled, wand raised, mouth twisted in fury. Slowly he approached Bellatrix, pointing his wand at her. When he reached her, he placed its tip against her heart. "You forget, Bella. I don't like to be interrupted."

Every other Death Eater shrank back as far as he could go without leaving his seat. Bellatrix alone didn't move. Her back straight, her head tilted upward, she gazed with terror and longing into the Dark Lord's face.

He pressed the tip of his wand harder into her breastbone, then traced a line downward between her breasts until the wand struck the tabletop with a sharp click. Bellatrix shivered once.

Voldemort lifted his wand and slid it up his sleeve. 'But because of your extraordinary courage, much more than any of these," he gestured airily at the Death Eaters, "I'll let it pass. This time."

"You are merciful, my Lord," murmured Bellatrix.

"Yes, I am. Except to the Longbottoms. They need killing, as you so helpfully pointed out. But they're mine." Voldemort swept his eyes over the table. "Do you understand that, the lot of you? The Longbottoms are mine. I am their death. It's me they'll see when death comes for them."

Transfixed by the purity of Voldemort's hatred, Severus gazed like the rest into the Lord's blood-red eyes. His pupils were dilated, but not into enlarged circles, like human pupils. They were slits widening into chasms, like the pupils of a snake. Chasms into which the incautiously self-aggrandising, like Frank Longbottom, might easily trip and fall. Too bad he had to drag his wife down with him. But Alice Aylsworth had made her choice. She had chosen Frank Longbottom.

She had chosen her way, and Severus had chosen his. He looked down at his left forearm, where the Dark Mark had tingled since the Dark Lord's arrival. He did not know what was ahead for him. But, given what he had seen of the corruption of the Ministry in Azkaban, given what he had seen of people like Dawlish and the Prewetts in A&E, given what he had seen in the Lord's eyes tonight, he could not believe Voldemort would lose this war. It was better to be in the fold, among the influential supporters of the most powerful wizard in Britain, than to be beyond the pale, in the rapidly shrinking ranks of Voldemort's enemies.

"Assignments, then," said Voldemort, and Severus looked up. "Lucius, your father's resigned as a Hogwarts Governor. Have him talk to his friends about putting you on the Board in his place."

"He has my Lord, but Davies thinks I'm too young and Montrose says I haven't shown sufficient interest in the education of the young."

"Indeed?" said Voldemort. "Well, you could ask Davies if he thinks his wife would like to know about that young veela in Prague. And you could ask Montrose if his partners in the cauldron business would like a _true _accounting of where the money went."

"Ah, yes," said Lucius, comprehension lighting up his face.

"Rookwood," said Voldemort. "Keep after Ludovic Bagman. He's not worth much, but he has friends who are, and his father has contacts in every department of the Ministry. And didn't you say they've started research on that veil in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Rookwood.

"I want the records. I have a particular interest in death, you see. Oh, and Travers?"

"Yes, my Lord?" said a slender man with fine, sandy hair.

"Two new Order members, the McKinnons, husband and wife. I want you to keep an eye on them for me. I have the feeling they're going to turn into troublemakers."

A smile slithered across Travers's lips. "Troublemakers? I'll look after them for you, my Lord."

"Very good." Voldemort looked round the table. "We're finished here; the rest of you already have your orders. When I want us to meet again, I'll call you." He stepped away from the table, began the half-pirouette of Disapparition, then stopped and looked straight at Severus. "Except for you, Severus. I want you back here on Saturday evening at seven o'clock sharp."

He didn't wait for Severus to answer. With a snap of his robes and the _crack! _of the air parting for him, the Dark Lord disappeared.


	29. Chapter 29

**The Patronus**

June 1976

Severus nearly ran from the parlour and past the bar, pushing roughly past Tom on his way out. The landlord let slip a foul word before he saw that it was Professor Dumbledore's guest who had all but collided with him. He bit his tongue on the rest he'd meant to say.

Out in the street, Severus blinked for a few moments in brilliant sunshine contrasting with the gloom of the parlour and his failure there. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked, faster and faster, past shops whose shining windows and colourful signs reflected the glory of the summer day. He ignored them all, even his favourites, the Apothecary and the Magical Menagerie.

His mind a dejected and fearful blank, Severus wasn't sure how much time had passed before he found himself on a corner from which wound an alleyway of a very different character. Here, in darkness drifting out like mist, carrying an indescribable and indescribably unpleasant odour, summer light died. Severus caught sight of the pocked street sign: _Knockturn Alley._

Knockturn Alley, the street of Dark magic, as winding, narrow and shadowy as Diagon Alley was straight, broad and bright. And yet Severus could never remember being afraid of Knockturn Alley, even when he'd been a quite tiny boy, clinging to his mother's Muggle skirt on the days when she'd slipped away from Spinner's End, or later, when he was older, and they'd taken a detour from school shopping.

Mother had known her way around Knockturn Alley, and Severus thought he could remember his. He remembered well enough what was in the shop windows: the skulls, the shrunken heads, enucleated eyes afloat in mysterious potions, daggers on display in cases lined with black velvet--a treacherous sort of knives, Mother had said when Severus had begged for one, knives that might turn on an ignorant or careless owner. All the implements of a powerful, often lethal magic, a magic for enemies.

Craning his neck, Severus took a step toward the oozing darkness. He could see shadowy figures, and the murmuring of words he couldn't quite discern wafted to his ears. He could walk right into Knockturn Alley. He was of age, with only one year left until he was fully qualified; even the witches who press-ganged the lone and unwary for body parts didn't frighten him.

Did Dumbledore? It didn't occur to Severus to ask himself that. Dumbledore was simply so much a part of his life now that the reason he gave himself for not entering Knockturn Alley was that he might be late for dinner with Professor Dumbledore.

****

Severus could have skipped the dinner, for all that the conversation mattered. Dumbledore spoke a bit to him about his single extracurricular activity, the Duelling Club, but that didn't go far, since duelling comprised the casting of aggressive spells like Sectumsempra, and it was abundantly clear by now, if it hadn't been before, that Dumbledore didn't want to encourage anything like _that. _So they proceeded to the headmaster's interests. First Professor Dumbledore talked about a Muggle sport called ten-pin bowling. It wasn't a game Tobias played (he played nothing but cards), so Severus knew nothing about it.

After a few monosyllabic replies which amply displayed Severus's ignorance of bowling, Professor Dumbledore proceeded to chamber music, another Muggle pastime, Severus judged from his total ignorance of its existence. This time, Severus's ignorance did not faze Dumbledore. He chattered on, lost in his own world of long-dead musicians with names like Mozart, Handel and Bach, until Severus, altogether in spite of himself, grew fascinated.

But the moment the last bite of trifle was gone, Dumbledore stopped. "We may have a long day tomorrow, so it might be best to end our evening early. Or at least it's best for an old wizard like me." He rose. "You, of course, can stay in the common room as long as you like. But I have asked Tom to serve us breakfast at seven so that we can resume our lesson at eight o'clock sharp."

Severus had no desire to sit in the common room watching the odd people nurse their drinks into the night. So he followed Professor Dumbledore up the stairs to bed.

****

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore sat before an open _Prophet, _commenting on the news of the day.

"I could wish the Ministry were a little less ham-fisted in their pursuit of this latest so-called Dark Lord," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "I know the Blackwoods, and old Blackwood's in-laws, the Boardmans. I'd swear on Merlin's tomb, Merlin's wand and anything else Barty Crouch would like to place before me that Algernon Blackwood is not a Death Eater. But Barty will find that out soon enough, and besides it's none of our business." Dumbledore snapped the paper shut and folded it under his arm. "We have work to do."

****

Dumbledore closed the parlour door and cast the Imperturbable Charm. Then he sat down at the table and gazed at Severus until Severus felt an almost irresistible urge to twist his hands into a knot and scuff his shoes against the flags.

"It's not that you're evil, as you seem to think I believe," Dumbledore said, just as Severus was about to succumb. "And it's not that you're incapable. We both know that you are. Except for being the object of our efforts, James Potter has nothing to do with it. So we can narrow this down, I think, to one of two difficulties. You haven't found your single, very happy memory. Or you haven't found out how to immerse yourself in it." He paused, and Severus jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them apart. "What do you think?"

"Erm, I reckon you're right."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and made an expansive gesture. "Go ahead, then."

Was that it? Severus gritted his teeth, but then he remembered he was supposed to be immersing himself in a happy memory. He drew his wand and summoned his and Mother's near-escape from Tobias. _"Expecto patronum!"_ A bubble of white cloud emerged from his wand and drifted lazily to the ceiling, where it broke apart and disappeared. He gripped his wand harder. _"Expecto patronum!" _This time, nothing happened.

"Not bad, not bad," said Dumbledore. "Just try to concentrate--"

Severus flung his wand to the floor, and its clatter cut Dumbledore off. "I am not wasting another day at this!"

Severus's wand spun under the table and stopped at Dumbledore's feet. Dumbledore stooped to pick it up, then came round the table and returned it to Severus.

"You don't want to keep throwing this around," he said. There was a thin edge of irritation to his voice. "Wands will lose themselves if they're treated too cavalierly. Or they'll break, and it's the devil of a job to repair them."

Severus stared at Dumbledore. He opened his mouth, then shut it before anything escaped. Something seemed to flash from Dumbledore's mind into his. Not a thought, an emotion, but an emotion which Severus could put into words.

"You're as sick of this as I am," he said. "You'd rather I were the one bleeding to death and James Potter were the one you were teaching to conjure a Patronus. You like him, and it'd be easy, you think. You don't doubt he could do it."

Shock glanced through Dumbledore's eyes. In the next second, it was gone.

"I am sorry you feel that way," Professor Dumbledore said. "You need to immerse yourself in happiness just long enough to bring forth a Patronus, and clearly I'm an impediment to that. I can't leave you alone. But I'll try to get out of your way. Perhaps then you can find your happy memory. And when you do find it, Severus, simply enjoy it."

With that, Professor Dumbledore backed into a shadowy corner of the parlour and disappeared. Severus blinked in confusion for a moment. Then he realised that the headmaster had Disillusioned himself. He stared into the corner for another few moments, but saw and heard nothing.

Severus turned away and fixed his eyes on the floor. Complete silence reigned: Professor Dumbledore's Imperturbable Charm was working perfectly. It was easy to believe he was alone, easy to accept the calm that solitude so often bestowed on him. He took a breath and sorted through his memories once again.

The memory of his midnight flight with Mother had of course not been happy enough, but what else was there? He searched his mind and found only shreds. A game of Gobstones on the kitchen table, Mother very clearly letting him win. Learning bits of magic or mixing up vats of potion while Tobias was at work. Clinging to Mother's hand in Diagon Alley and staring at the bright shops, just _staring._

Those things had been pleasant enough. But nothing had made Severus happier than racing down Spinner's End on that warm summer night, thinking he was free.

It was all right. He was alone. He would empty his mind and open its doors, just to see what would come in.

Lily came in, of course, the moment he stopped impeding her. She was shy and wispy at first, then bright and clear, giggling at him, or silent, her eyes round as he recounted tales of the wizarding world. He should never have tried to keep her out; he should never have thought Mother would replace her. He'd repudiated her after she had repudiated him, but how did that change the memories? He'd been wrong to think it would. They crowded into his head, as fresh as the day he and Lily had made them. He chose the happiest one and let it fill his mind....

_"Tuney's gone to Aunt Rose's for two weeks...."_

_Two weeks. Two weeks of summer, of long golden days and blue-tinted evenings. Or two solid weeks of mist and rain, who cares? It'll be two weeks free of the bony limbs, the shrill voice, the bitter envy of Lily's Muggle sister...._

_"Want to go to the playground, Lily?"_

_She does. She smiles, her green eyes alight, because she knows what they'll do. And soon they're doing it: soaring side-by-side on the playground swings, higher and higher. Just before touching the sky, they seize each other's hands and jump, flying clear of the swings, far above the asphalt, laughing, landing lightly at last on the little ribbon of rough, weedy grass between the asphalt and the chain-link fence._

Severus raised his wand and wordlessly cast the charm. Something bounded from the end of his wand into the centre of the parlour. It was a silver-white doe, made of light yet looking solid as life, nothing like the vague mists his previous attempts at the Patronus Charm had produced. The Patronus--_his_ Patronus--looked so real that Severus could see the individual hairs gleaming on her hide.

Then she turned her head. Feeling his jaw slacken, Severus stepped back. Her eyes, fringed with long white lashes, were among the strangest and most beautiful things he had ever seen. They were dark grey shot through with silver, and they made him think of the Milky Way spilling across the night sky.

"Great Merlin," murmured Dumbledore. The headmaster, having shed his Disillusionment, stood beside Severus. His eyes shone and his glasses, sitting on the crook of his nose, twinkled in the reflected light of Severus's Patronus. The doe turned and leaped. Just before striking the parlour wall, she disintegrated into glittering dust and disappeared.

"Severus," said Dumbledore. The light was gone, but the wonder hadn't faded from his face. "That was a truly lovely piece of magic. On the conjuring of a Patronus, it seems I have nothing more to teach you." He glanced at the parlour wall, and Severus thought he could almost read the question in his mind: had it really happened? Had the silver doe really leapt there the moment before? "Do you think you could do it again?" Dumbledore asked.

For once Severus didn't blame him for his doubt. He looked wonderingly at the tip of his wand, not quite able to believe himself that something so beautiful as the silver doe could have come from that ordinary-looking, thirteen-and-a-half inch ebony stick. But if a Patronus was born of a single, very happy memory... well, he couldn't doubt that, whatever had happened afterward, lifting off from that swing with Lily was one very happy memory.

Severus raised his wand. _"Expecto patronum,"_ he whispered, and the doe sprang forth. She wasn't a fluke. He really could conjure her.

Dumbledore smiled. Severus could see relief in his eyes, and something more. He wasn't sure what that was until a dazzling white phoenix shot out of Dumbledore's drawn wand and reflected the headmaster's own joy back into his face.

For a moment the doe looked as startled as Severus felt. Then, side by side, the phoenix flew and the doe trotted away.

"What a beautiful creature," said Dumbledore. "Imagine receiving a message from her in _your_ voice!"

"Sorry?" said Severus.

"Oh, just a little trick of mine. I've made up a bit of a spell to help the conjuror send messages by his Patronus. There, you've had enough of me, I think; let's call it a day. Off to Diagon Alley with you. I'd recommend Florian Fortescue's. The lemon-lime sorbet is delicious."

Severus needed no encouragement. "Yes, sir," he said, and he was through the parlour door in the next moment.

****

"It was one of most remarkable Patronuses I've ever seen," Albus Dumbledore said to Constance Meed in her office that evening. "You could tell this happy memory was one Severus clung to...." His voice faded and he looked thoughtful. "So I do wonder why he took so long to find it."

"Had he so many happy memories to choose from?" Healer Meed asked.

"He didn't strike you as the sort who would, did he?" said Dumbledore with a wry little smile.

"Not at all. I'd have said he could easily put his hand on any happy memory he had." Healer Meed paused. "He likes to hide things, and by now he may know you're a Legilimens. Perhaps he was hiding his memory from you."

Professor Dumbledore looked at her in surprise. "That's quite possible."

"It's also possible he was hiding it from himself."

"Hiding his happiness from himself," Professor Dumbledore repeated musingly. "Who would want to do that?"

"Happiness can be a quite complicated emotion, even in one as young as Severus."

Professor Dumbledore looked for long moments into the shifting-sea grey of Healer Meed's eyes. "Especially when happiness has to do with love.... Yes, I think I understand you."

Healer Meed nodded. Professor Dumbledore considered again the Patronus lesson in the Cauldron's parlour, as one memory pushed itself to the forefront of his mind.

_"You're as sick of this as I am.... You'd rather I were the one bleeding to death and James Potter were the one you were teaching to conjure a Patronus. You like him, and it'd be easy, you think. You don't doubt he could do it." _

"Have you noticed that he has a gift for Legilimency?"

"Ah. So he discovered a guilty secret," said Healer Meed, not exactly answering Professor Dumbledore's question.

"One of many. One which I very much regret, especially since seeing his Patronus." Professor Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "At any rate," he said, rising, "I thought I should mention the Legilimency."

"He won't need it," said Healer Meed, accompanying Professor Dumbledore to the door. "I'll open my mind for him. Severus will see everything there that he ought to see."


	30. Chapter 30

**A Lesson with the Dark Lord**

Late Winter, 1980

It had been a long time, actually, since Severus had had to worry about how his mother might occupy herself in his absence. It had only been a few days since it had occurred to him that she might not be interested in _everything_ he did when they were apart. He didn't really think she suspected he had become a Death Eater. But since she had stopped associating with the Malfoys and taken up again with her old half-blood and Muggle-born friends, Severus understood even better than he had before that there were some things she was better off not knowing.

She was happy now. She didn't trace his comings and goings; she no longer waited for him in the kitchen with an ineptly-prepared dinner, or no dinner at all, as she had in the old, lonely days in Linden Lane. She had a life of her own. She didn't need to know he was going to Malfoy Manor to meet the Dark Lord tonight. Why, he could stay all night if he liked. His absence wouldn't disturb her. She wouldn't even notice it.

So, without a qualm, about his mother, at least, Severus Flooed from the sitting room of his flat to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, on the first Saturday in March at seven o'clock in the evening.

As he stepped from the grate, Severus saw Lucius Malfoy sprawled in an armchair, gazing into the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes turned from emerald to gold before he tilted his head toward the library. "In there."

Severus went down the shadowy hallway to the library door. Should he knock? He very gently tried the knob. The door was unlocked. He opened it and softly, hesitantly entered the library. A wing chair stood before the fireplace with its back to him. A thin laugh drifted up from its depths. "I told you to come here, so of course you can come in!"

Severus squared his shoulders and stepped further into the room.

"Close the door and come over here," said Lord Voldemort.

Severus went round to the front of the chair to find the Dark Lord sunk in the cushions with his spindly hands folded over his stomach. Severus bowed. It seemed the right thing to do. When he straightened, the Dark Lord gestured to another chair. Severus pulled it closer and sat down.

The Lord's eyes held him. "I didn't give you a task last Tuesday, as I did the others. Do you know why?"

Severus had thought it was because he was a beginner. Now, looking into the ember-like eyes, he thought it best simply to say, "No."

"No. You don't." The Dark Lord turned his gaze to the ceiling. "It's because I have to teach you a lesson."

Severus froze.

"Or two. Or three." Voldemort looked at him and laughed. "I don't mean punishment. You haven't had time to annoy me yet. No, I mean to teach you something to help you serve me better." He rose, and the rustling of his robe sounded like hissing snakes. "Get up."

Severus obeyed, following the Dark Lord to the centre of the room.

"Occlumency," said Voldemort. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes," said Severus.

"Do it, then."

"But I--" _don't know how,_ he'd meant to say, before his head burst with pain and his brain split open under a white-hot blow. Memories poured through the rift.

He was four, without magic, crying as Dad bellowed at Mum. He was eight, with magic, with Mum all to himself in the darkness of Spinner's End, with Dad lying Stunned in the house behind them. "Wait, Mum, wait! Let me say the word too!..._ Lumos!"_

His head pounded. The memory shredded into wisps and another appeared. He was nine now, and watching _her_ swing. Not the one all elbows and knees, the screechy-voiced one, not the older girl. The younger girl, with the pale face and dark red hair, who, laughing for sheer joy--

"Lily, don't do it!"

--let go.

A door slammed shut in Severus's mind. The pain subsided. He opened his eyes, which he'd squeezed shut. There stood the Dark Lord, looking, for the very first time in Severus's experience, startled. He wasn't as close as before and, to judge by his unsteady stance, he'd stumbled those steps backward.

Voldemort set his feet apart, folded his arms across his chest and stared at Severus. "You're the boy in the odd outfit."

The too-short trousers, and Tobias's old coat covering a country child's smock Mother had picked up at a church jumble.

"Yes."

"Who is the little witch?"

It wasn't a good time to practise Occlumency. Somehow Severus knew Voldemort already knew the answer. "Lily Evans."

"Lily Evans Potter. You told me Lily Evans Potter was no more to you than a co-worker. Why didn't you tell me you knew her when you were a child?"

"I didn't think it was important."

Pain shot through Severus's body; he felt shattered into a thousand brittle pieces which the Dark Lord then ground to powder with his curse. He screamed and screamed again, until it seemed that screaming in agony must become his new life, so that his last scream did not wear itself out until after the pain was gone.

He was on the floor, flat on his back. Gasping, he struggled to his feet, to see Voldemort's wand pointed at his chest. "Why didn't you tell me you knew Lily Evans Potter when you were a child?"

He'd torn through Severus's mind. Hadn't he seen how things had changed? "I meant it," said Severus. "I didn't think it was important."

Voldemort stared at him without lowering the wand. Looking into his eyes, Severus was reminded of molten lava, of fire crackling beneath a smoothly-flowing surface. He could give some other answer, he supposed, but to a Legilimens who might be Healer Meed's equal? Voldemort would know he was lying. So he said nothing and braced himself.

The Dark Lord laughed. He threw his head back, so that the shrill cackling echoed off Lucius's moulded ceilings and rosewood bookcases, and slid his wand into his robe sleeve. Severus watched him warily, until finally the laughter spiralled down to a tinny snort.

"'I meant it!' No one's ever answered one of my Cruciatus Curses like that! My friends sob when I curse them and my enemies rage, but _you! _You pick yourself up, brush yourself off and tell me you meant it! You didn't think it was important! Can that possibly be true, or have you learned your Occlumency well enough to lie to me? Let's see...."

The battering of Severus's brain recommenced. Another memory shook loose.

He was in his favourite summer place, cool, green and shady, where the river smelled almost right, like water and weeds. She was there, looking eagerly into his face with those great green eyes, asking him to tell her that her Muggle sister was wrong, that Severus hadn't lied to her about Hogwarts. "It _is_ real, isn't it?"

"It's real for us. Not for her. But we'll get the letter, you and me." And he'd go away from Spinner's End to Hogwarts with his first friend, his only friend, his best friend.

_"Severus?" _

_His best friend says his name and he smiles._

Severus fought the memory until it changed into Lily smiling in welcome. "Tuney!"

_The leaves are green, the water smells right, Lily's here; this is a wizard's place! No Muggles, especially __her__! _"Who's spying now? What d'you want?"

"What's that you're wearing, anyway? Your mum's blouse?"

The branch cracked and fell on the Muggle; she started to cry. Was she hurt, or just faking? He hadn't meant to--

_She should just go away if she doesn't like it! Muggles don't belong with witches and wizards!_

Petunia did go, running, but it didn't help.

"Did you make that happen? . . . You _did! _You hurt her!"

"No--no, I didn't!"

Lily didn't believe him. She threw him a glare like her sister's, then ran after her.

Severus fought the memory, throwing his shoulder against the door in his mind. He'd cared in those days, if he didn't now, but the Dark Lord might not be able or want to tell the difference.

That door closed and another opened into Petunia Evans's bedroom. Sev was sliding a parchment from the sock drawer in Petunia's dresser, unfolding it, reading...

_"...flattered by your interest in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...delighted to have you attend.... Unfortunately, your lack of magical ability makes it unlikely if not impossible that you could profit from studies at a witching school.... Once again, I thank you for your enquiry and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock, Wizengamot, etc., etc._

The letter was crumpled. Sev, gripping it fiercely, throwing his head back in a silent laugh of triumph, crumpled it further and the memory changed--

--into his first meeting with Potter and Black, with Lily in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, where Potter had just said he wanted to be Sorted into Gryffindor.

Just where the loudmouth belonged. Severus couldn't contain his contempt.

Already sensitive to any doubt about his perfection, Potter noticed. "Got a problem with that?"

Severus's lip curled. "No. If you'd rather be brawny than brainy--"

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" said Black.

Potter laughed, and Lily rose to Severus's defence, staring Potter and Black down. "Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment."

"Ooooo, come _on,_ Severus, let's find another com_part_ment." They taunted Lily and tried to trip Severus, but Lily didn't care. "Stupid babies, stuck on themselves." So Severus didn't care either, and the memory moved on.

_"You'd better be in Slytherin!"_

But the hat shouted _"Gryffindor!" _for Lily, and they were divided for the first time.

It didn't matter yet in the next memory, on the Hogwarts lawns in springtime.

"It's your own fault!" Lily was saying angrily. "You take your whole gang against him, what do you expect, you stupid berk!" Potter could only grunt fiercely in reply, because that Langlock was a good one; it wasn't going to wear off for _hours. _Severus, watching it all from behind a tree, could hardly contain his glee.

Later, it did start to matter.

"...thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends?"

"We _are, _Sev, but I don't like some of the people you're hanging round with!... _Mulciber! _D'you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?"

"...It was a laugh, that's all."

"It was Dark Magic, and if you think that's funny--"

"What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?... I won't let you--"

"..._Let _me?"

"--He fancies you, James Potter fancies you! And he's not...everyone thinks...big Quidditch hero--"

"I know James Potter's an arrogant toerag," Lily said, and relief as sharp as pleasure shot through Severus. She saw right through Potter; why had he doubted her for a moment? Potter'd never have her.

_She's mine. _Shoulders straight, head high, Severus went back into the castle with Lily at his side...

...and Severus fought. Not because of the pain in his head, though there was that. Not for fear of another Cruciatus Curse as it became all too obvious how well he knew Lily, though there was that. He fought, his shoulder against the door of the room full of his memories, because there was worse to come, not only in pain but in the torture of humiliation and futile rage.

Suddenly the pressure and pain were gone. The memories blew away like morning mist, and Voldemort stood before Severus. His eyes were as cold as their glistening red would allow.

"You told me she didn't matter," Voldemort said softly. "You told me memories of her weren't important. You lied. You were obsessed with her. But I will give you this: you just forced me out of your mind. I'd have to break you, I think, to get at whatever memory comes next, and I don't want that. So the Occlumency lesson's over for the evening. I will see that memory you're hiding. Give it to me."

The Dark Lord didn't understand. He thought it was Lily Severus cared about. Perhaps his humanity lay so far in the past that he'd forgotten about humiliation and pain.

The Occlumency lesson was over. "I'll give it to you, my lord," said Severus. "I'll give you every memory I have of Lily Evans Potter, if you like. You'll see why the last thing I could do now is care about her."

"Love her, you mean." Voldemort's contempt was mingled with a trace of disappointment, as if he'd expected better than that from Severus.

"Oh, that too." That too: furtive, solitary and, in its rare display, as universally rejected as an obscenity. Severus shared the Dark Lord's contempt.

"That too," echoed Voldemort. "Have you learned love's worth, then? We'll see."

The pain battered Severus's forehead again (obviously Voldemort didn't believe him), but as Severus instantly opened his mind it soon faded.

What took its place was worse.

Turned away from her, choking on soap bubbles, he couldn't see her, but that'd be all right if she stayed on the bank chattering with Macdonald, if she didn't turn her head, if she didn't see.

_Please don't let Lily see._

"Leave him ALONE!"

"...I will if you'll go out with me, Evans...Go on...Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

She saw. But when did Severus ever get what he wanted? He struggled nevertheless, pitting every particle of his mind against Black's Impediment Jinx, until he had his wand and cast his new spell. But Sectumsempra wasn't strong enough to lay Potter flat, to keep him from using another of Severus's spells against him.

Sectumsempra wasn't strong enough yet. That thought among others imprinted itself in Severus's mind as Levicorpus hung him in the air by his ankles.

"Leave him alone!"

His robes were over his head. He couldn't see her. But Severus knew Lily's voice, every tone, every inflection peculiar to her. He heard the hint of laughter, there for one second and gone.

"...There you go...You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus."

He was shaking off the last of Black's curse, struggling to his feet, Potter's words in his ears and Lily's face in his eyes. _Her_ eyes, alight with fury, yes, but also with the same touch of laughter he'd heard in her voice.

Potter flirted with her. Nothing new there.

Lily flirted back.

_You're not going to--I won't let you--_

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

His knees turning to water, his stomach turning over, he also didn't need her to tell him he'd gone too far. She told him anyway.

"Fine. I won't bother in future. And I'd wash my pants if I were you, _Snivellus."_

It wasn't the last of it, nor even the worst, since Levicorpus soon became one of Potter's favourites--_"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"--_and even that memory didn't come close to the one Severus slid into next.

"I'm sorry!

"Save your breath.... I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."

"I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood. It just--

"Slipped out?... It's too late.... None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends--you see, you don't even deny it!... You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"

Severus stared at her, gaping like a fish. He'd longed to know secrets only the Death Eaters knew, secrets of a new and deadly magic he could have whispered to her as he'd whispered of the Dementors, of Azkaban, of Hogwarts, in the green shadows by the river. But what made her think You-Know-Who would ever want him?

"I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."

And so it had been (although he'd crept into her street and stared at her bedroom window over the summer) until sixth-year N.E. Potions. Had they renewed their friendship along with their old Potions partnership? He'd thought so then, but now, an observer apart from his memories, he wasn't so sure. They'd laughed. That was all he could say for certain.

And then came the evening of the moon-shifting mushrooms, when Lily, as if looking for an excuse to leave him again, once again wouldn't let him apologise.

"You lied to me! You haven't changed one bit since last year! And now you don't even have the excuse that someone's bullying you! James Potter's nowhere in sight! _You're_ the one who's like the rest of them--the foul-mouthed, bigoted Slytherin bastards.... In their eyes, you're not much better than I am. And no amount of snide laughter in the Slytherin common room is ever going to change that."

"You said James...I thought you meant...."

_James Potter. _But she knew what he meant, so she didn't bother to let him finish.

"Well, I didn't.... I don't much like James Potter.... But--for God's sake, Severus, I don't obsess over him like you do. I don't let my hatred of James Potter consume every waking moment of my life."

There was a lie in there somewhere, for three months later she was going out with James Potter. But Severus hadn't known that as, after watching her leave, he'd turned to kick the caps off a ring of moon-shifting mushrooms, asking himself, _If not Potter, then why not me? Why not me?_

Soon the mushrooms disappeared. He was kicking only grass now as he turned toward the Whomping Willow, as twilight gave way to night. The full moon rose in the sky and the Sword of Gryffindor rose in flames before his mind's eye.

Then all went blank. Severus opened his eyes.

Lord Voldemort stood before him, watching him. "The Sword. Dumbledore's oath. You still don't wish to break it."

_Dumbledore's eyes glinting by the light of his fiery sword, his voice with its strange, deep ring: "Do you swear...?"_

Severus had sworn. And no, he wasn't quite ready to break that oath.

He said nothing. But Voldemort didn't press him. He paced around the room, rubbing a thin finger across the lipless line of his mouth. Finally he stopped and looked directly at Severus.

"I should smash that sword to pieces and your mind with it, if that's what it takes. But I won't. I can't, yet. In the meantime, you did tell me that what lies behind it is nothing that can damage me."

Severus lowered his head submissively. He didn't like not seeing Voldemort's face, but he thought it safer to look away. "Yes, my lord."

"Do you still say it?"

"I say that--forgive my wording, my lord--but I say that I honestly do not see how it concerns you at all."

There was silence. Then a hissing chuckle passed over Severus's lowered head.

"It's not the wording, Severus. It's the principle of the thing." What laughter was left disappeared from the Dark Lord's voice. "No one keeps secrets from me. When the time comes, whatever Dumbledore's sword guards within you I will have. Let's hope your assessment of its importance to me is correct."

Severus cautiously raised his head. "Yes, my lord."

"Meanwhile, about Lily Potter. About James, too. Dumbledore's golden boy seems to have been quite the bully. And yet the girl you wanted--the girl you befriended before both of you went to Hogwarts--the girl who'd said she was your best friend--ended up with the boy who did those things to you."

Severus let more memories trickle into his mind: Potter and Lily kissing in an alcove, in an empty classroom, under a tree by the lake. The way she clung to him, the little sounds she made when his lips touched her neck.

"With your worst enemy," said Voldemort. "You hate Potter."

Severus didn't deny it.

"And the affair of the grey underpants. Lily Evans was enjoying that even before she insulted you. Potter was attempting to seduce her with your torment, and she was enjoying it. How you must hate her." Voldemort paused. "I do."

"I care nothing for her."

"Very philosophical of you. And perhaps that's best. It's easier to think straight when you don't care. And you know, you deserve better than a fickle, treacherous Mudblood." Voldemort laughed shortly. "Just about everybody does."

What he deserved in women was, at that moment, the furthest thing from Severus's mind. So he said nothing.

"I've had enough," said Voldemort. He gave a bored, careless wave. "Leave me now. Tell Lucius you'll be staying overnight. We'll finish up tomorrow."

****

**A/N:** _He was eight, with magic, with Mum all to himself in the darkness of Spinner's End, with Dad lying Stunned in the house behind them. "Wait, Mum, wait! Let me say the word too!... __Lumos__!"_ A reference to "Snape's Happiest Memory", another memory-laden story of mine, which is archived on this site.


	31. Chapter 31: The Pensieve and the Phial

**The Pensieve and the Phial**

June 1976

Albus had thought that Severus's conjuring of the Patronus would be enough to enable him to continue seeking a cure for James Potter with Healer Meed. But when Constance summoned him to her office the next morning, he found that he was wrong.

"You didn't tell me you've allowed a werewolf to attend Hogwarts," she said.

They were seated in the armchairs, sharing tea. Albus drained his cup before speaking. "Severus showed you what happened on the night he cursed James. What he found beneath the Whomping Willow."

"Yes."

"The students are safe. I've got everything under control."

She looked sceptical. After all that had happened, he couldn't say he blamed her.

"The werewolf is your business," she said finally. "Severus's Sectumsempra is mine. Last week he cast it on James Potter, but you do realise he'd invented it earlier?"

It had certainly acted like a well-honed spell. "Had he?" asked Albus uneasily.

"He created the spell at least a year before he used it on James at the Whomping Willow. In fact, the first person Severus cast Sectumsempra on one year ago was James Potter. The poor lad seems to have been something of a schoolyard bully."

"James didn't bully Severus this time."

"No, but these things build on themselves. Vendettas develop. As a teacher and headmaster, you know that. My point is, Sectumsempra has progressed, if progressed is the right word, from a cutting spell to a killing curse."

"You mean Severus has worked on it. Tried to make it worse."

"Tried and succeeded. His hatred of James Potter isn't just something that flares up in times of anger. It's cold, steady, premeditative. It's the strongest sort of hatred that I know. Very difficult to work with, to say the least." Constance cocked her head at Albus. "You _are_ sure he conjured a Patronus?"

"I think I know what Patronuses look like."

"What a strange young man..." Constance said musingly. "But you can see how a consuming hatred like his could make things difficult...."

Albus listened patiently. Constance was very good at what she did, but the odd nature of her talents predisposed her to eccentricity.

"It may call for the Veil of Tears," said Constance.

"The Veil of Tears," Albus echoed softly. So that was why he was here, to have fair warning. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so much trouble."

"You should feel sorrier for Severus than for me," she replied.

****

Seeing Severus after he had left Constance Meed did make Professor Dumbledore feel sorry for him. His typically unkempt appearance, his even more typical air of fear and suspicion had a way of inspiring pity.

But then one tended to remember James as Albus had seen him every morning since his arrival at St Mungo's: lying in a hospital bed, his face pale and pinched, his eyes perpetually closed, tended by a house elf whose twitters and sighs expressed her dismal opinion of his odds. The house-elves of St Mungo's, Albus had discovered, always knew best who would live and who would die.

The sight of James had reduced his pity for Severus at first, but less so now as he had begun to wonder what it must be like inside Severus's head. He had rarely looked there, and not at all since he had discovered James bleeding at the foot of the Whomping Willow. He shared Constance's ethics in not going where he wasn't wanted. Usually. Definitely, in Severus's case. He had never known a mind less welcoming to intruders, except for Tom's. But there was no comparing Tom Riddle's mind with any other on earth.

"Healer Meed is as pleased as I am at your success in conjuring a Patronus," Albus said to Severus. "She's quite eager to resume working with you."

He smiled brightly, trying to make things look as good as he could. Severus looked only slightly less apprehensive.

"I need to return to Hogwarts to wrap up the end of term, but I think you'll do fine here, don't you?" Albus asked.

Like any student getting the teacher off his back, Severus brightened. "Oh--oh, yes."

"I don't consider the Trainees' Room the most comfortable of places, and besides the Trainees need it," said Albus. "I was thinking you'd probably prefer to go on staying at the Leaky Cauldron."

Severus said nothing. Albus didn't need Legilimency to see him thinking that he could never afford such luxury.

"I'd be happy to pay the bill," Albus said delicately.

Severus still said nothing, but his face turned a dull brick red.

"Done!" Albus said. "Why don't you Floo to St Mungo's, then? Healer Meed will meet you for breakfast in the Trustees' Dining Room."

****

When Severus stepped from the fireplace into the lobby of St Mungo's Hospital, Healer Meed was there. "Good morning, Severus."

"Good morning, ma'am." He looked into her strangely variegated eyes, then quickly away. Could Legilimency get out of control, those eyes made him want to ask. Were there people who saw into your mind whether they wanted to or not?

He had climbed the stairs with Professor Dumbledore to the Trustees' Dining Room. Healer Meed led him through the eternal bustle of the lobby to the lift, which swept them up to the fifth floor without a stop. The doors whispered open and they crossed the hallway. Severus caught the aroma of freshly-baked pastries from the tea room at the end of the hall as Healer Meed gazed at a point on the plain white wall. In a moment, a door appeared and swung open into a stairwell. They climbed the stairs to the featureless door before which Professor Dumbledore had presented his wand. The door opened at a glance from Healer Meed, and they entered the Trustees' Dining Room.

They sat down at one of the white-clothed tables, and the same unobtrusive house elves served Severus bacon, eggs and porridge. Healer Meed had only tea and toast. She ate absently, as if food were an afterthought.

"I was with James Potter last night," she said, as if by way of explaining her meagre appetite. She said nothing further, but only looked at Severus until he felt constrained to reply.

"Erm--how is he?"

"Not well, actually. The Blood-Replenishing Potion is losing its effectiveness. He needs your help."

Well, that was why they'd dragged him here, wasn't it? But Severus didn't say so aloud.

"He'll die without it," Healer Meed continued, still watching him. "But you've known that all along. That knowledge helped you conjure your Patronus. You knew you had to do it or James would die."

Saving Potter had never been at the forefront of Severus's mind. Staying at school, staying out of Azkaban by pleasing Dumbledore and Meed--that was what had filled his thoughts. "How could I know that?" he asked.

"Because you know Sectumsempra. You saw what it did."

Severus had seen Potter grey, jerking, nearly choking. He had never known before seeing Potter bleed that one body could hold so much blood.

"But that's good," said Healer Meed. Severus, looking down at his porridge, felt rather than saw her eyes on him. "You know what your spell did. And your ability to conjure a Patronus proves you have the capacity to counter what your spell did."

Severus, toying with his porridge, decided he didn't want the rest. It was looking a little congealed.

"Why don't you try it?" said Healer Meed. "At least it would send your mind to a better memory."

Severus looked up. Healer Meed smiled encouragingly. "Your Patronus Charm."

Severus glanced around the dining room. The house elves had vanished.

"No one is here," said Healer Meed.

That was good. In case, under that many-hued gaze, he ignominiously failed.

It was better to pretend she wasn't there. Severus stood, turned his back, pulled out his wand and plunged himself into the memory. Soon there was nothing but Lily and himself, clasping hands, flying above the asphalt playground. The doe bounded from his wand. She looked around the dining room as if with curiosity, as if she had a mind of her own. Then she trotted toward a window, splintered into mist and disappeared.

Severus turned back to see that Healer Meed's usual air of dispassionate kindness had turned into surprise.

"You _can_ do it." Her tone told Severus that she hadn't really believed in him before this.

"I wanted to believe," she said. "I needed to believe. But I couldn't." She looked at Severus with an intensity that made him want to shrink away. "I must say I have never known anyone so perfectly balanced between Dark and Light."

Severus wasn't sure what that meant, so he didn't answer.

"Finish your breakfast," said Healer Meed, "and we'll go to my office and get to work."

****

She sat at her desk and gestured Severus to a chair opposite. He sat, and thought immediately of the last authority he'd faced across a desk--Slughorn, on the night after he'd defended himself against Potter's gang with the Firewhip. All that was missing were the glaring cherubs.

The salient feature of Healer Meed's office was not cherubs fluttering atop a cabinet but the plain pewter Pensieve on the corner counter. Severus's eyes strayed toward the Pensieve. Mist wafted across its surface, casting a moonlight-glow which was reflected on the polished floor.

"Yes, we'll be using the Pensieve," said Healer Meed.

Severus looked back at her. She too was gazing at the Pensieve. "You and I will visit your memories there."

His memories. Which ones?

"Your memories of Sectumsempra. How you created it, and why. How and why it grew."

"Grew?" said Severus.

"It made a superficial cut at the end of your fifth year at Hogwarts. At the end of your sixth, it has become a means to murder."

Severus didn't know how to answer that.

"Your memories contain the thoughts and emotions with which you informed Sectumsempra--its psychic building blocks--and when we have analysed those memories, we should be able to build Sectumsempra's counter."

It sounded like a rather too technical description of the roilings of Severus's mind during spell-making.

"Yes, it is complicated," Healer Meed agreed. Severus was getting used to her answering his unspoken comments. "So I'll need your full cooperation. You're not here to keep Professor Dumbledore from sending you away from Hogwarts and into Azkaban. You're here to heal James Potter. I'm afraid that means sacrificing something very precious to you."

"I don't have anything precious."

"What about those thoughts you hide from everyone, those memories behind the Dark patches you've hidden from me?"

Severus looked at her in surprise. He had never called his inmost thoughts precious. But she was right. They were.

"You have a talent for shielding your mind," Healer Meed said, "but I'm afraid it won't serve you here. You must allow me into your head and, once I'm there, to take any memory I want. And not merely the memory--the facts, the events--but all the feelings you've wrapped around it."

"Allow you into my head?" said Severus. He glanced into the corner filled with mist that shone the same pearl-white as his Patronus. "Aren't I supposed to take the memories out and put them into the Pensieve?"

Healer Meed shook her head. "Not this time. I'll enter your mind and select the memories I want. I won't take any that have nothing to do with Sectumsempra--but of course you have to trust me on that. You have to open yourself to me; you can't fight me. You have to let me take anything I want."

As if he could prevent it. Severus looked away uneasily.

_"She attended Durmstrang, the only school which provided a curriculum to suit her singular talents." _So Dumbledore had said, but Dumbledore wasn't here now. He had left Severus alone with Healer Meed.

He met her eyes. It was, as he'd noticed before, like watching the shadows of clouds race over the sea. "All right."

"Thank you." Healer Meed went to the corner. She Levitated her Pensieve over to her desk (which was probably a good idea, as it looked very heavy). Then, returning behind the desk, she motioned Severus to rise.

He did so, facing her across the Pensieve. She looked blurred, ghostly, through the mist that floated above its surface.

"Please bend over the Pensieve," said Healer Meed.

Severus bent over the cloud seething inside the pewter bowl. Healer Meed placed her hands at the back of his head. She drew them over his crown, through his hair, and as she pulled them away he saw from the corner of his eye strands of silver stretching from her fingertips. A rainbow of colours, red, yellow, green, violet, rippled across his sight. Memories hurtled through his mind: duelling with Potter's gang and getting the worst of it when a Tarantallegra Curse forced him into a slithering dance. A rat shooting out of a culvert near the river at home. _"Leave him ALONE!" _and a satisfying spray of blood erupting from Potter's cheek. Olaus Ruskin casting Sectumsempra with casual perfection on a hedgehog.

Severus blinked, and the Pensieve's swirling surface came into view again. He tilted his head a bit and saw the shining strands of his memories cascade from Healer Meed's fingertips into the Pensieve. As they struck, mist billowed and shot upward into Severus's face. Something, he couldn't see what, flung itself around his neck and dragged him toward the boiling clouds. He shook it off and sprang back.

"Sorry," said Healer Meed. "My Pensieve's rather aggressive." She waved her wand and the surging, undulant mists settled down. "You're right. We should enter it together." She took a small phial from a desk drawer and slipped it into her pocket. Then she came around to Severus's side of the desk and took his hand. "Let's go."

They leaned close to the Pensieve. Just before Severus's face touched the cloudy surface, the Pensieve with a tightening of invisible bands around his midsection drew him in.

****

Severus and Healer Meed landed on the green lawn of Hogwarts, the castle rising in the distance. Severus saw himself in his fourth year, trudging off alone as he'd often done in those days, while Lily was finding friends among the Gryffindors and he was unable as yet to find friends among the Slytherins. A rain of acorns fell upon his fourteen-year-old head, and he whirled, wand drawn, to see Potter and Black summoning them from a nearby oak and lobbing them from the tips of their wands.

"Oi, Snivelly!" said Black. "Wake up!"

_"Petrificus totalus!"_ shouted Severus, but Potter was too quick for him. A flick of the wand, and Severus's legs writhed under the Tarantallegra Curse. Severus's legs writhed. He tripped on a rock and fell flat on his face, so hard that a stinging pain shot through his jaw and his mouth filled with cool autumn grass.

The scene dissolved and reformed into one Severus remembered very well: Spinner's End, a few months later, during the Christmas holiday. He was walking down the street at twilight. A few Christmas candles glimmered in grimy windows; ragged wreaths decorated a few of the scuffed and peeling front doors. Severus's fourteen-year-old self didn't notice, and if he had, he wouldn't have cared. He was peering toward the other side of the road, looking for something else, and as he neared the river, he saw it: a rat scuttling out from a culvert that ran beneath the road.

_"Petrificus totalus!" _the younger Severus whispered, and this time the spell worked. The rat froze mid-leap and fell flat on its back. Severus scrambled down to the culvert, seized the rat by its tail and ran off through dirty snow toward the woods, toward his favourite spot, where he and Lily hid together in summer, in the cool green shade.

The snow was white when he reached his favourite spot; the river that sparkled in summer sunlight was frozen into grey winter ice. But blood ran red, winter or summer; Sectumsempra worked anytime and anywhere, if you knew how to cast it....

The grey gloom of winter passed into the brilliance of early summer, the end of June, to be exact, at the end of Severus's fifth year and O.W.L. examinations. He was choking on pink soap and, half-crippled by the Impediment Jinx, crawled on his belly like a snake through the grass toward his wand. He reached it, took hold of it and laid open Potter's cheek with Sectumsempra just before Potter pulled him into the air with Levicorpus

Severus still remembered the thought bathed in humiliation and fury that had gone through his mind as he'd dangled upside-down with his pants exposed.

_It's not strong enough; it didn't cut deep enough!_

The memory dissolved. Severus passed through a fluttering rainbow into the next year, when he was teaching Ruskin Sectumsempra, when Sectumsempra was growing, perhaps with Ruskin's help.

_"There's no boundary to it." _Ruskin, watching his hedgehog spell-subject bleed to death. _"That's the difference between Firewhip and Sectumsempra. Between the Light and the Dark. Between the owl sleeping in her cage in a patch of sunlight and the owl flying free on the hunt, into the starry, limitless night."_

Severus buried the hedgehog carefully, so that no one would notice its grave, no one would discover it, no one would know what he had done.

The memory changed again, from the windy autumn hillside by the Forbidden Forest to the Whomping Willow beneath the full moon, less than one week ago. He was facing James Potter.

_"You, Black and Lupin planned this.... Lupin's a werewolf, and you and Black knew it....You sent Black to tell me how to get inside the Whomping Willow. You told Lupin to put himself where the wolf would see me when I got inside... You wanted to scare me into silence... If I were bitten or killed, what was that to you and Black? ... Just wait until the parents find out Dumbledore's let a werewolf into Hogwarts. Just wait till they find out the werewolf's friends practically fed him a student. You won't be back next year, Potter. None of you will be back."_

He'd scared Potter for a moment--how good it felt to see it again! But then Potter remembered that being thwarted wasn't part of his life plan.

_"If you think Sirius's dad and my dad are going to let Dumbledore take the word of a greasy little jumped-up half-blood over ours, you'd better think again... Doesn't matter that Sirius's father doesn't like him. All that matters to him is that some grimy little nobody with a Muggle mill worker for a father is trying to get his son thrown out of the school the Blacks have attended for generations.... It's not going to be so easy to force Sirius and me out of Hogwarts.... Why do you think you can do __any__ of it when it's __my__ dad, not __yours__, who's Dumbledore's friend?"_

Severus watched himself choke on his own disbelieving rage. If he had been able to accept his place as Potter's half-blood inferior, he wouldn't be watching this memory play out. But he hadn't been able to accept it. He would never be able to accept it.

So, raising his wand, _"Sectumsempra!" _Severus cried.

_"Sectumsempra!" _Severus whispered, and the memory flickered into darkness.

****

A hand closed over his. _Meed's, _he thought. Drawn upward through silver light, he landed lightly beside her in her office. She let go of his hand and drew her wand, pointing it at a smoky cloud that covered her office ceiling. Her wand seemed to suck at the cloud: it tightened, dove down to the tip of her wand and spun there for a few moments like the vortex of a whirlwind. It narrowed further, until it looked like a strand of memory, black instead of silver. Then Healer Meed's wand swallowed it up.

She took the phial out of her pocket, opened it and touched her wand to its lip. The darkness poured in a stream from the tip of her wand into the phial. When the last of it had trickled inside, she quickly stoppered the phial.

"What's in there?" Severus asked.

Healer Meed held the phial at eye level. The darkness moved restlessly inside, imitating the ceaseless writhing of the silver mist above her Pensieve. "This is your emotion," she said.

"My emotion?"

She slipped the phial into her pocket. "The emotional component of Sectumsempra. The complicated part of your spell. For I found the intellectual component rather easy to understand. Didn't you?"

Severus looked at her in mute confusion.

"What was your intention in creating Sectumsempra? When you were choosing its incantation, what did you want it to do?"

Severus thought back. He was in his and Lily's secret place, pointing his wand at the Petrified rat. Its ribs heaved with its terrified breathing.

"To unravel," said Severus. "To rip apart."

"And to unravel flesh," said Healer Meed, "you--"

"You have to _cut," _said Severus. "Don't you?"

Healer Meed nodded. "Sectumsempra unravels," she said softly, half to herself, it seemed. "Its counter must reweave."

Severus waited for her to explain, but she didn't. "Come back tomorrow at eight o'clock," she said. Turning away from him, she plunged her hand into the pocket which contained the phial. Severus saw it twist there, then clench into a fist. "We have--a little more to do before we get to work on our counter-curse." The mists of Healer Meed's Pensieve leapt up, further obscuring her already unrevealing back.

"Oh--all right," said Severus.

He left then, returning to the Leaky Cauldron, half-afraid of what might animate his dreams that night.


	32. The Veil of Tears

**The Veil of Tears**

June 1976

Severus needn't have feared his dreams, however, for, back in his bed at the Leaky Cauldron, he lay awake, feeling the time pass--hours, surely--as he gazed through the darkness at the faint phosphorescence of the whitewashed ceiling. He could not get the strange Healer and her stranger Pensieve out of his wide-awake, overactive mind.

But overhanging all was the smoky cloud. Was that his emotion? His loathing of Potter, his triumph at the creation of Sectumsempra? Whatever it was he'd felt when Sectumsempra had reached its full potential on James Potter's body?

Or merely a magic show produced by a very clever and powerful witch?

He was no nearer an answer when he drifted into a sleep that was blank, dreamless and far too short.

****

There was no invitation the next morning to the Trustees' Dining Room, so Severus ate a solitary breakfast in the Cauldron's common room before meeting Healer Meed in her office. A glance at the smoke-free ceiling was reassuring, a glance at Healer Meed somewhat less so. Her face was calm but pale.

He looked at the hand in her pocket, clenched again into a fist. Around the phial, Severus guessed, and when she pulled her hand out, he saw that he was right.

Healer Meed placed the phial on her desk and looked at it for a moment. Then she lifted her eyes to Severus.

"I've told you that I'm a Healer, and you've seen that I'm a Legilimens. And I said on the morning we met that my specialty is Psychic Healing."

Severus nodded. Then, realising he was staring at her, "Erm--yes," he added quickly.

Healer Meed turned from the desk and began wandering around her office, passing the landscape painting and the portrait of the mob-capped Healer, who dozed with her chin on her chest. "Psychic Healing," she resumed. "Because we wizards can go mad. And when we do, when our magic's twisted along with our minds, we can wreak havoc."

Severus looked with reluctant fascination at the black mist writhing in the bottle. His emotions, according to Healer Meed. Was he mad, then?

"A little." She wasn't even looking at him, yet she knew what was in his mind. "You're a powerful wizard." Now she did face him, and pointed at the phial. "Your emotion, folded into your magic. You're too powerful for me to tease them apart. But I shouldn't anyway. I should wear them all."

_Wear _them all? He wasn't the only one who was slightly mad.

Healer Meed picked up the phial and looked at it with determination. "Your emotions. I'll weave a feeling-veil from them." She glanced up at him. "In my profession--the healing of mad wizards--we have a nickname for it: the Veil of Tears."

_The Veil of Tears._ "I don't suppose mad wizards have very many cheerful feelings."

"No. Nor do a fair number of sane ones, I'm afraid. But out of these feelings came Sectumsempra." Healer Meed eyed the phial again. "And from them will come its counter-curse."

She set the phial down briskly. "Beneath the veil, I'll experience the emotions in your memories just as you experienced them in that time and place of your life. Just as if I were you."

Wasn't picking through his mind with Legilimency enough? "What good will that do?" Severus asked.

"I thought you understood. Your emotions are an integral part of Sectumsempra. We must know what Sectumsempra's made of if we're to create its counter."

"I know my own emotions. I can tell you what they are."

"They're yours, so I doubt you can completely understand them. And you're not a Psychic Healer, so you can't consciously manipulate them to create spells." Healer Meed reached for the phial.

"Wait!" said Severus, and she paused, her hand hovering over the phial. "I mean--I thought we were doing this together. I thought I was helping you create the counter-curse."

"Help me?" said Healer Meed. "No, you've got it wrong. I'm helping you. _You_ are the essential one."

"But you're the one putting on the--er--Veil of Tears." He might as well go back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, for all the good he was doing.

"Oh, no, you're staying right here." Healer Meed glanced briefly at her office door, which was enough to make Severus suspect she had locked it. "You must re-feel your emotions with me. But you must not interfere."

Why would he want to interfere? The answer was there, in the dark writhing in the phial.

This was going to hurt.

Healer Meed pulled the stopper, and the dark cloud of Severus's emotions oozed out. She watched it for a second, then pocketed the phial and drew her wand. With a few broad strokes, like an artist painting a bold canvas, she passed her wand through the cloud. The cloud immediately formed itself into a long black veil, like those Severus had seen widows wearing in old pictures of funerals. The veil wasn't woven of thread, however, but of fine strands of mist: of the emotions Healer Meed had drawn from Severus's memories. And even now, woven into a veil, into an intricate, lace-like pattern, they moved. They twisted and writhed, though not as freely as they had unwoven. Now their movement looked more like shimmering.

Healer Meed caught the veil in her hands and lifted it before her face. It continued to shimmer, fluttering slightly now, as if in a breeze. Now Severus saw not only the strands of emotion but the lacy patterns they made, shifting, changing. There were plants, animals, birds, even human faces. He saw a mushroom turn into a fir bough, a rabbit turn into a hedgehog, then into a starling whose wings beat in frenzied flight. He saw Potter's face for a second, hardly long enough to know it was Potter, before the features melted and flowed, reforming into Ruskin's face, then Tobias's.

Or so it seemed. Severus was never quite sure what he was seeing in the veil, for the threads of his emotion never stayed still long enough to form an unmistakable picture. They never stayed still at all.

The veil swirled through the air suddenly as Healer Meed put it over her head, letting it fall so that it covered her face completely, like the widows' veils in the pictures. She gasped sharply, as if in pain, making Severus start. He was about to say something, to stop her, when the portrait-Healer, with no intervening yawns or stretches, jerked instantly awake.

"You heard her," said the portrait-Healer, frowning severely at him. "Don't interfere."

"Er--all right," said Severus. Then Healer Meed began to cry.

She didn't sound like a woman, however. She whimpered and mewled like a child afraid of making too much noise.

_"Hit him, Mum, __hit__ him.... I hate him, hate him, __hate__ him, don't care if it's Dad! I want a dad...."_

The veil obscured Healer Meed's face, but Severus could see her shoulders shake. Desolation crept into his heart, making his chest hurt and his throat ache.

_It's a monster, all teeth and flying spit and howling, __howling__.... _Severus shut his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears; the teeth went away, but the howling didn't. _Make the monster go away, Mum, hit it with your wand, cast a spell on it, make it go away, turn it into a dad...._

_I want a dad._

"It's not _my_ fault I can't fly a broom!" said a boy somewhere, his voice thick with resentful anger.

It could only have been Healer Meed. Severus hadn't spoken, and the portrait-Healer had gone back to sleep. Healer Meed was still under the Veil of Tears, but she no longer wept. Her body was stiff and her fists were clenched, in an attitude Severus recognised as his own when he was in the grip of fury.

It wasn't _his_ fault; they didn't have money for a broom and Dad would never let him have one anyway....

_It's not __my__ fault! _Maddy Urquhart was laughing at him, but Sev didn't say it aloud. She didn't care, nobody cared and he wouldn't tell them if they did, he didn't want anybody to know.

"I hate her, hate her, _hate_ her." Healer Meed spoke in a low and snarling boy's voice that sounded remarkably dangerous for its age, a voice that overpowered Severus, dragging him in to what went on beneath her veil.

_Hate__ her. _Severus stared at Maddy, at her face twisted into ugliness by her laughter. He'd hex her if he could, if he dared, if a teacher weren't watching who could throw him into detention, or out of school, so he'd have to work in the mill the rest of his life and turn out like Dad.

Hating Maddy, choking on the curse that wanted to get past his teeth and hurl itself at her, Severus stopped paying attention to his broom and it threw him again.

_Reckon I shouldn't have pretended I didn't see what Mulciber was doing to Macdonald. I don't think I fooled Lily, I saw her looking at me, I hope she's not mad...Ow!_

The acorns hit his head as hard as pebbles; then came Black's hated voice: "Oi, Snivelly! Wake up!" Severus spun around, yanking out his wand: _"Petrificus totalus!" He_ only wanted to Petrify Potter and Black, but _they _preferred humiliation, whenever they could work it in. Potter managed it this time. With a wordless flick of his wand, he set Severus's legs writhing in a Tarantallegra Curse. Severus stumbled, hit the ground and, his legs still moving, tasted hate with the mouthful of grass.

"I hate them, hate them, _hate_ them," Severus and Healer Meed chanted together, under the veil's influence.

Potter and Black. They were Severus's enemies. There had to be something he could do about them.

The next thing he knew, there he was, walking down Spinner's End, his new spell buzzing and jangling in his brain, his spell for enemies. All he needed was something with blood in it, to test it on. Tobias was gone to the pub, and Mum, decorating the spindly Christmas tree, quite understood if a teenaged boy didn't want to participate in that. Or so she'd said. Severus, taking what she'd said at face value, had left.

Now he was going down the street, and he saw what he wanted when he reached the Newells', a rat dashing out of the culvert beneath the road. _"Petrificus totalus!" _he whispered, careful to keep his wand hidden in his coat sleeve. He didn't want the Muggles noticing. That was why, when the rat fell Petrified, he scrambled down to the culvert, grabbed it and ran off as fast as he could. He didn't want anyone to know what he was up to.

Because it was _his_ spell, he told himself, in his and Lily's secret place, in the white snow, beneath the bare trees, by the river of grey ice. _His._ Even Lily, gone with the rest of her family to her Aunt Rose's for Christmas, wouldn't know about it.

He called up a hoard of memories and laid them out on the table of his mind, all the mockery and humiliation to which Potter and his gang had subjected him.

"I hate Potter," Severus muttered, going over each and every one. "I hate him."

Slowly he drew his wand from his coat sleeve, slowly he lifted his eyes to the Petrified rat lying on the snow, its chest quivering with quick, shallow breaths.

_"Sectumsempra," _Severus whispered, and the snow around the rat turned red.

It worked. _His_ spell, his spell for enemies, worked.

"It works!" said Healer Meed, sharing in his triumph.

But triumph never seemed to last long for Severus. This particular triumph died for him at the end of his fifth year, when he used Sectumsempra on Potter for the first time and found it did no more than scratch Potter's face. His humiliation before the school and especially his loss of Lily overshadowed it at the time, but he didn't forget his spell. He didn't abandon it. He worked on it hard over the summer (with Lily hating him now, he didn't have to worry about her wondering where he was and what he was up to, about her maybe following him into the woods and finding out). He demonstrated it to Ruskin and Lestrange in the following school year, and taught it to Ruskin. He could feel it growing, maturing, even though (as Ruskin had put it) he never gave it its head. Not until the night Potter and Black nearly fed him to their friend the werewolf.

_"You think you'll get away with this--" _Severus choked on the words. But it was true. Potter had weighed his chances, before Severus's very eyes, and he honestly thought he could get away with it_. "That's all my life is worth to you, isn't it? I'm no more than a piece of rubbish to be kicked out of your path. I think you need to learn what a werewolf attack is like. I think you need to __feel__ what it's like to be torn to bloody rags."_

Severus raised his wand. "I hate him," he and Healer Meed whispered together.

_"Sectumsempra!" _they cried aloud. Together.

The air shimmered; reality flowed around Severus for a moment. When things stabilised, he was back in his chair, facing Healer Meed behind her desk and feeling a bit shaky. She was still shrouded beneath the Veil of Tears. The veil was still. The tree branches, the starling, rabbit and hedgehog, the faces that reminded Severus of Potter, Ruskin and Tobias, the lacy filaments that held them all together--all were still.

Healer Meed lifted her hand to the veil and with a flick of her wrist twitched it off her head. As she held it at arm's length, Severus got a look at her face. What he saw there unnerved him. Her colour was grey, her hair dishevelled, her eyes reddened and wild.

Neither spoke. For his part, Severus thought it better to remain silent as Healer Meed drew her wand and transformed the veil into black mist, which she then decanted into the phial. He looked at the phial after she stoppered it, and at the contents within. His emotions. No longer writhing, they lay quiescent. They'd spent themselves on Healer Meed. Severus stole a guilty glance at her. She gazed at the phial and gave a deep, heavy sigh.

"I--er--" Severus began.

"Oh, don't apologise. I've seen worse." Healer Meed kept her eyes on the phial-full of inert emotion. "But hate...." She sighed again. "It's very draining." She looked up at Severus, appearing calmer than she had a few moments before. "Hate blinded you to everything you didn't want to see in James Potter, so that you could do to him what you wanted to do. I understand. I saw what you saw." She glanced again at the dead black lump inside the phial. "It was there. Unfortunately, for both of you."

That didn't sound good. "Does that mean--?"

"It means that I can now cast Sectumsempra." Healer Meed pocketed her wand and brushed stray strands of hair away from her face, securing them with hairpins to the bun at the back of her head. "Every bit as well as you can, but I won't." Finished with her hair, she placed her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "You'll use what you've learned to create its counter-curse instead."

Severus was as ready for that as he'd ever be, especially if it meant they were finished with the veil. "All right."

Healer Meed smiled. It made her look a little less tired. "Good." The phial caught her eye once more. "Oh. We don't need those any longer." Her gaze sharpened on Severus's emotions and they vanished, leaving the phial empty and sparkling clean.


	33. Bellatrix's Examination

**Bellatrix's Examination**

Late Winter/Early Spring 1980

Voldemort knew the worst of him, and he had survived.

Severus finished breakfast in the Malfoys' dining room, attended by that thought and the Malfoys' house-elf, Dobby. During their Occlumency lesson, the Dark Lord had learned the worst: that Severus had once loved Lily Evans. Yet he hadn't killed Severus for being best friends with one of his worst enemies. Nor had Severus died of shame after showing Voldemort what Potter had done to him by the lake after O.W.L.s.

He was alive, if drained by his ordeal of the night before. His bones ached with the memory of the Cruciatus Curse; his mind felt scoured raw by the Dark Lord's ravages. But perhaps for the first time in his life, he commanded his emotions. Although lesser people at other times had undone him, he could face the Dark Lord calmly.

Thus Severus was ready to meet the Dark Lord when he returned to Lucius's library that morning. He wasn't ready to meet Bellatrix Lestrange.

But Bellatrix was there, standing before the fireplace beside the Dark Lord with a twist of a smile on her lips.

"Ah, there you are, Severus," said the Dark Lord. He nodded toward Bellatrix. "Another pupil. Bella has studied Legilimency and Occlumency under me, and I dare say she's the best at both in my ranks."

"Hello, Bellatrix," said Severus. "What a great honour for you, to hear that from the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix said nothing. Her smile widened, showing teeth.

"Bella will give you your final examination in Occlumency," said Voldemort.

"Bella? Why not you, my lord?"

"I must hold back. Bella's powers, though great, are merely human. So she need not." Voldemort smiled down at Bellatrix, who, rather surprisingly, paid him no heed. Her attention was fixed on Severus.

"Firstly," said Voldemort, "there's a different quality to an unrestrained Legilimency. Secondly, I've found that Bella's uninhibited nature adds a power to her magic that her fellows lack."

At last Bellatrix took her eyes off Severus and looked adoringly at Voldemort. Severus took the opportunity to gird himself.

"Help yourself," said Voldemort to Bellatrix, and she did.

Bellatrix's Legilimency was like a clubbing to the head. As if from a distance, Severus heard his own harsh cry of pain, and the memories spilled out: Tobias's drunken bellowing, games of magic and trips to Diagon Alley with Mother, the loneliness of knowing no one like himself living nearby, until one day he left Spinner's End and approached a playground in a somewhat better part of town--

_No._

But even through the pain, Severus knew he couldn't block the memory of his first sight of Lily. That was too crude; Bellatrix would know he'd withheld something.

He'd die--or kill--before he gave that memory to her. So she must never know there was a memory at all. He had to make it seem as though the memory didn't exist. But how?

In the instant he wondered that, the silver doe appeared. She trotted the perimeter of Severus's mind, guarding the memory he did not want Bellatrix to see.

Through the distance, across the terrain of his mind, Severus heard her shriek.

"A Patronus! My lord, he has a Patronus!"

Her anger released Severus from the grip of her Legilimency. He returned to himself, to see the Dark Lord regarding Bellatrix with a sardonic gleam in his eye.

"It is a problem, Bella, that I trust you can deal with," Voldemort said.

"You _know--_you permit this? In a Death Eater?"

"You will allow me to use my own judgement as to what I find useful in my servants."

Fear replaced Bellatrix's indignation. "Oh--yes--of course--forgive me, my lord."

Without taking his eyes off Bellatrix, Voldemort gestured at Severus. "Go ahead. Deal with the problem."

The interruption had given Severus just enough time to cobble together a solution for shrouding the playground memory, a sort of mental invisibility cloak--

_"Crucio!"_ Bellatrix cried, and with the pain came a hot summer sun shining on an asphalt playground--

_"Protego!"_ gasped Severus. The sunshine receded to reveal Bellatrix stumbling backwards.

Voldemort looked at her with a touch of contempt. "Torture and Legilimency can be a potent combination in the right hands. Such as mine. I'd suggest something subtler in the present situation. If you can handle it."

Severus was so ready that he could almost see the spell forming in Bellatrix's mind: _Legilimens! _And then the attack came.

Bellatrix threw it at him with the same disordered passion, but Severus felt more in control this time. He gave her by choice nearly as many memories as he had given the Dark Lord--the taunts of Potter's gang, the disdain of Slytherin House before he'd proven himself there, even some early school memories of Lily--because he knew he was showing her nothing she didn't know.

Over certain others--the sunny playground, the night he had lain before the Fat Lady's portrait after calling Lily Mudblood, the night of the moon-shifting mushrooms, when Lily had left him for good--he cast his new device, so new, created a few seconds before, that he didn't have a name for it yet.

But it did what he wanted it to do. Like an Invisibility Cloak, it made the memories Severus wanted to hide disappear. In the parade of events which passed through his mind, some of them humiliations which she ransacked with glee, it was as if those few memories, precious and painful, did not exist.

He let her have everything else, so that she would think she had it all. He fought exactly hard enough to make her think he was fighting as hard as he could. He even let her have a piece of the memory of his and Mother's first escape from Tobias, into Spinner's End on a damp summer night.

_"Wait, Mum, wait!" Sev whispers excitedly. "Let me say the words too!"_

_"All right, Severus." There's a smile in Mum's voice. "The Light word, remember."_

_"Yes," says Sev. His voice is high and all stretched out like a wire, he's so excited. He loves this magic. Mum holds up her wand, the signal to begin._

_"One...two...three...__Lumos__!" they sing out together and when the wand flares, "It's magic!"_

Severus slammed the door on the memory as soon as he and Mother laughed. Bellatrix didn't try to wrench it open. She released him instead. He blinked his way back into the consciousness of his surroundings.

"I've found it, my lord!" Bellatrix said breathlessly. "The memory behind his Patronus!"

"Are you sure? He forced you out of his mind."

"Ask him." Bellatrix looked at Severus triumphantly; for once the Dark Lord's doubt hadn't frightened her. "I'd like to see him try to lie."

"Well?" said Voldemort.

"Yes," said Severus. "That's the memory. My mother Stunned my father after she caught him about to beat me with his belt. Bellatrix saw us just after we'd left him. A memory worthy of a Patronus."

"I should think," said Voldemort. "The happiest moment of your life."

Severus said nothing.

"Of course it was!" spat Bellatrix. "Leaving that Muggle filth!"

Severus looked at her, startled by her venom. Her eyes burned with a hatred he recognised. It had been his own, many times, when he'd looked at Tobias.

"Unless he closed the door on something happier," said Voldemort, looking at Severus.

"I wouldn't say so," said Severus. "We went to my grandmother's, but she didn't welcome us. In two weeks, we were back home again." He looked at Bellatrix. "In the memory you saw, I believed we'd never go back. So yes. I was happy then."

Voldemort eyed Severus. Without looking away, he waved carelessly toward Bellatrix. "All right. You can run along."

There was a silence. "Do you mean me, my lord?" said Bellatrix.

"Who else? Go!" Voldemort looked at her angrily, giving Severus a chance to look too. Bellatrix met his eyes with a look so corrosive it took his breath away. Then it warmed his heart.

She'd never liked him. But surely she'd never hated him more than she did at that moment. What could it mean but that she thought he had replaced her in the Dark Lord's favour?

"Yes, my lord." Her look, her voice told Severus that he had made an enemy. But she would never have loved him. It was worth the price.

She left very quickly. The door whispered shut behind her.

"You lied to her," said Voldemort. "You hid the Patronus memory from her."

Severus smiled and shrugged.

Voldemort laughed softly. Then he said, "You had better not lie to me."

He entered Severus's mind with the same searing agony as before. Yet through it Severus sensed that Voldemort was holding back. He didn't quite trust Bellatrix's ability, yet he didn't want to harm Severus. So the pain wasn't such that Severus couldn't work at all.

Because Voldemort wasn't having his Patronus memory. No one would have it.

The feel of hot sunshine on his neck, hot asphalt beneath his running feet tried to trickle into Severus's mind, but the Patronus memory didn't slip from his grasp. Inwardly he cast his arms wide and the Mental Mantle (that was the new magic's name, he saw) flowed over the memory. With a tiny ripple, as of the slightest shivering of reality, Severus's Patronus memory slid into nonexistence.

The other memory slotted into its place: the memory of wandlight trembling into life and wrestling with the gloom of Spinner's End. The memory of running.

_Running, running, with his hands in the air and his head thrown back, he could __fly__ to Gran Prince's, and Gran will let them stay if Mum's not married to __him__ any more, she __has__ to let them stay...._

_"Severus!...Severus, wait!" Mum calls, but she's already laughing. She catches up to him, still laughing, grabs his hand, and they're running--_

Running from Spinner's End to Gran Prince's in London, running, running....

The mists of Spinner's End drifted across Severus's eyes, until he could no longer see the light at the end of his mother's wand, the pale gleam of his short-trousered legs pumping away, his feet pounding the cobblestones. The mist grew into darkness, and Severus, his limbs shaking and nausea bubbling into his throat, nearly fainted.

Then Voldemort released him.

It was so sudden that Severus stumbled backward, seizing the edge of Lucius's writing table and nearly upsetting the inkstand.

He clung to the corner of the table for a moment, rubbing his aching head. His brain felt lacerated. But he knew that Voldemort was satisfied.

The pain ebbed from a flood to a steady current. "I knew it," Voldemort said.

Severus blinked and looked up. There was a look of perfect satisfaction on the Dark Lord's face.

"And why not?" said Voldemort. "It makes perfect sense. That's why I killed him for you."

Severus knew better than to speak.

"I can hardly help but sympathise with a wizard who wants to free himself from his Muggle father."

"I remain grateful, my lord," said Severus carefully.

"As well you might. And you did reasonably well, defending that memory from Bella. You're ready."

Severus waited, but Voldemort did not elaborate. He tilted his head and looked at Severus through a stretched-out silence.

"Would you like to be a schoolmaster, Severus?" he asked at last.

"A what?"

"A schoolmaster. Hogwarts will have an opening this spring. I think you'd suit."

A schoolmaster? A professor at Hogwarts? Severus couldn't say he cared much for children--in fact, from what he'd seen of their noise and messes in the paediatric wards of St Mungo's, he was pretty sure he disliked them--but the prestige, the comfort, the security, the peaceful regularity of a professor's life at Hogwarts--"An opening, my lord? How do you know? And how--?"

Voldemort raised a hand. "Enough, Severus. There will be another meeting of our comrades this Saturday. I'll speak to you afterward."


	34. The Knitting Up Spell

**The Knitting-Up Spell**

June 1976

Healer Meed had wiped her phial clean of Severus's emotions with one flick of her wand. Their writhing continued unabated in his heart.

Potter was helpless, near death. Yet Severus still hated him, surely as much as he'd hated him when Potter had been whole, the powerful and graceful Quidditch hero soaring high above the pitch. It was precisely that hatred which had created Sectumsempra. Watching it play out beneath Healer Meed's Veil of Tears, feeling it anew, had only reminded Severus of how richly Potter had deserved everything he'd got.

That hatred couldn't be the path to Sectumsempra's counter. It wasn't the way to save Potter, or himself.

His only hope was Healer Meed. "_You__ are the essential one," _she had said, but he'd never really believed that. He hadn't believed it when she'd said it yesterday and, turning from the St Mungo's lobby into the corridor to her office, he didn't believe it today.

He knocked on the office door, and softly it swept open. Healer Meed sat at her desk, bent over a parchment, a steaming mug of tea at hand.

"Come in." The parchment rolled itself up and a black ribbon snaked into a neat bow around it. "Administrative annoyances. As if I didn't have better things to do." She looked irritably at the parchment, and it flew to a cubbyhole in a towering shelf against the wall. Severus entered the office and stole a glance at the Pensieve. It sat on its recessed counter, topped by its customary white cloud.

"Sit down," said Healer Meed, and he did. "How do you feel this morning?"

Calmer, Severus suddenly realised, looking at her. Perhaps his time with Healer Meed had been an emotional bloodletting: an overabundance of feeling had been drained, so that, although his emotions hadn't changed, they were reduced to the point that he could control them.

"Fine," he said and almost meant it.

"Good, because it's time to get to work." She stood. "First we'll visit James Potter."

Severus swallowed. Healer Meed looked at him sternly, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Yes. You'll get to see your handiwork. It won't be pretty, I'm afraid. The effectiveness of the Blood-Replenisher is wearing off. Come along."

They left her office and entered the lift. At the fourth floor, they emerged to a host of Healers swarming around a massive desk. A sign on the opposite wall said _The Inigo Braithwaite Acute Spell Damage Ward._ Speaking to no one, Healer Meed took Severus's hand. He felt his stomach flip sickeningly as, turning at an odd angle away from the desk, she led him to the end of a silent corridor.

Severus rubbed his nauseous stomach and gulped. Giving him a sympathetic look, Healer Meed released his hand.

"I'm sorry I upset your stomach, but I really didn't want all those people seeing us. It's quite irregular, after all, for someone who hasn't even left Hogwarts to be treating a St Mungo's patient."

Treating a patient? Severus felt even less capable when Healer Meed put it like that. "You mean Pott--I mean, James, is in here somewhere?"

Without answering, Healer Meed drew her wand and pointed toward the wall. A door appeared, to which was affixed a large red-lettered sign:

ISOLATION_  
Positively No Unauthorised Admittance  
For further information or to obtain clearances,__  
please see the Healer-in-Charge._

"Isolation," said Severus nervously. "Isn't that for people who have dragon pox or something?"

"Ordinarily, yes. I just wanted to frighten off anybody who might have worked out my concealing magic and discovered this room."

"Concealing magic," said Severus. "Those people at the desk had no idea we were there, did they?"

"No, they didn't." Healer Meed smiled. "I confess I rather pride myself on my skill at Disillusionment. That was a fairly advanced charm I cast on us when I took your hand. I've yet to meet the witch or wizard who could pierce it." She looked around the corridor with satisfaction. "Further, I've wedged this place into my own bit of reality. Healer Wort--the Healer-in-Charge of Acute Spell Damage--is the only person besides you and my house-elf whom I've allowed to perceive this hallway and the Isolation Room. She knows the room holds a patient, but she doesn't know who the patient is. She can't get into the room except in an emergency, and then only if I can't be reached. Happily, I've always managed to be reached." Her smile faded. "As there have been emergencies in the past few days."

Uneasiness replaced Severus's pleasure at being included in Healer Meed's secret. "Emergencies?"

"Twice James has stopped breathing. He's getting closer to death. He needs our help more than ever." She turned to the door of the Isolation Room and touched it with her wand. The door opened and they entered.

Although lit by candles and overheated by a roaring fire, the Isolation Room struck Severus as gloomy and dim. He avoided looking at the bed in the corner and the heavily-blanketed form lying upon it, but he had already glimpsed Potter's shock of unruly hair, black against the white pillowcase. The house-elf, dabbing at Potter's face with a wet cloth, turned toward them when Healer Meed closed the door. Severus fastened his attention on the elf.

"How is our patient, Dilsey?" asked Healer Meed.

Sighing gustily, Dilsey dropped her cloth into the basin beside Potter's bed. She looked sharply at Severus. "Oh, Healer Meed, ma'am, James Potter is murdered! Murdered! The Dark wizard's horrid cut is bleeding and James Potter won't open his throat for Dilsey's potions!" She jabbed a bony finger at Severus. "And all because of that wicked Dark wizard, that awful boy!"

Healer Meed went to Potter's bedside and looked beneath his blankets. Her face went still. "Bring me more Blood-Replenisher."

"Dilsey will bring. Not that it will do any good." The house-elf trotted to a cauldron sitting on the hob and ladled potion into a cup. Both cauldron and cup steamed, sending a coppery odour into the air.

Dilsey carried the potion to Potter's bedside and handed it to Healer Meed. Healer Meed touched Potter's throat with the tip of her wand, then with a sure and gentle touch lifted Potter to a sitting position and poured the potion down his throat.

Potter's mouth fell open when Healer Meed tilted his head back, but he never so much as flickered an eyelid. As the bedclothes fell away from his chest, Severus saw a bloodstain spreading slowly on his nightshirt.

Healer Meed carefully, almost tenderly lay Potter upon his pillow. Then she stepped back and surveyed him with a frown.

Severus had hung back, standing just inside the door even after Healer Meed had approached Potter's bedside. He remained there now, watching the whey-faced Potter, the sombre Healer Meed, the house-elf muttering and wringing her hands.

"What are you waiting for?" said Healer Meed. "Come over here."

"Yes, Dark Wizard, sir! Come over here and just try to finish your job, just try to murder James Potter, and Dilsey will--"

Severus clamped his teeth together. Even out cold, an inert lump, Potter won worshippers.

"Thank you, Dilsey," said Healer Meed. "Take the rest of the afternoon off, why don't you; when was the last time you visited your sister?"

"Dilsey doesn't want to visit her sister; Holly gives Dilsey nothing but cold tea and hard buns. Besides, James Potter needs Dilsey's protection from--"

"Severus and I will take care of James. He's quite safe with us. Now please go."

Dilsey looked doubtful. "Well, as long as Healer Meed--"

Healer Meed pointed inexorably at the door. With more muttering and a final, baleful glance at Severus, the house-elf reluctantly left.

"She's very conscientious," Healer Meed sighed after the door closed. "Sometimes too conscientious."

She looked down at Potter and frowned again. Severus looked at him too. Candle-light flickered across Potter's face. The light was weak, like starlight reflected off water. It did nothing to add colour to his cheeks.

Healer Meed folded Potter's sheet and blanket down just below his chest. A bright thread of blood broke away from the splotch on his nightshirt and crept slowly over his breastbone. Healer Meed lay her hand on Potter's forehead, then moved it to Potter's chest, above his heart. Her frown deepened. When she lifted her hand, Severus saw a smudge of blood on her palm.

"This isn't good," she said softly. "This isn't good at all."

"What's wrong?" said Severus.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't know that it's _wrong. _Perhaps it's exactly right. It's bad for James, however, in that he's so far gone that if he should stop breathing, I won't be able to revive him. Keeping him alive will be up to you."

Severus stared at her. Up to him? He didn't know anything about keeping people alive!

Healer Meed folded Potter's bedding down to his waist. "Help me take his nightshirt off."

Severus was damned if he was going to fool around with Potter's clothing. He slid his hands gingerly beneath Potter's shoulders, then further under his armpits and lifted.

It was like lifting a corpse. Potter's head lolled back, then forward. His body was heavy and limp. If it hadn't been for the feverish heat radiating outward from Potter's skin, through his nightshirt, Severus would have believed him dead.

With sure-handed ease, Healer Meed pulled Potter's nightshirt over his head. Now there was no protective cloth between Potter's furnace-hot body and Severus's bare hands. He lowered Potter as quickly as he dared and pulled his hands away. Staring at his palms, he was surprised to see that they weren't burned.

Healer Meed was gazing down at Potter's exposed torso. Reluctantly Severus looked too.

He hadn't forgotten what Potter's Sectumsempra wound looked like--indeed, the memory of the entire night was seared into his mind. And the chilling thing, he realised as he stared, was that since that night Potter's cut hadn't changed at all. It was the same length, from his neck nearly to his groin, exposing the same depth of skin, fat and gleaming muscle. Blood oozed ceaselessly, trickling from the lip of the wound over Potter's chest and belly, leaving a lurid trail across his skin.

Healer Meed, her face pale, her eyes fearful, pointed at Sectumsempra's cut with her wand. "I can do no more for him. It is time for you to mend him, and you don't have much time. If he lasts into tomorrow...." She faltered. "If he lives till then, I shall be very much surprised."

Potter to die before tomorrow? Severus had spent five days between the two of them, Dumbledore and Meed (and he'd call her Meed if he wanted to, Dumbledore wasn't here to stop him), and he still didn't know how to save Potter; they hadn't taught him a damned thing! "What am I supposed to _do?"_ he demanded.

She met his eyes. Through several moments of silence, Severus felt her moving gently in his mind.

"You don't hate him as you did. We managed that with the Veil. So your emotion's not standing in your way."

"That still doesn't tell me what to do!"

"No...." Healer Meed considered her wand. "It will require some reasonably complicated wand work."

"Like what?"

Healer Meed shrugged. "I don't know."

How the hell was he supposed to know, then? "What about the incantation? How does that go?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you."

Severus's despair must have shown on his face, for Healer Meed's brow furrowed with pity. "I'm sorry. But I did tell you that you would have to be the one to heal James Potter. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore told you the same."

Severus nodded dumbly. Healer Meed was right about one thing: at that moment he couldn't hate Potter. Hatred couldn't compare, couldn't even exist alongside the sheer terror that Potter might die.

And he would do it before Severus's eyes. The first death Severus would see would be that of someone he had killed.

_James Potter is murdered! Murdered!...all because of that Dark wizard, that awful boy!_

_God, no._ He willed Potter to life, and not because he wanted to stay in school or out of Azkaban, but because he didn't want Potter to die. He didn't want to be a murderer.

He took out his wand and adopted the attitude of a wizard about to cast a spell--wand extended, back straight, feet planted firmly apart. He cudgelled his brain for the right wand movements, the perfect incantation. Nothing came. He lowered his wand and stared at Potter, looking for some scrap of inspiration. Again, nothing. Near death, Potter obstructed him, just as he'd done in life.

But there was no help anywhere else. Severus had nowhere else to look. So he stared at Potter, watched Potter's only movement, the rise and fall of his chest. It didn't rise much. And as Severus watched, it jerked a couple of times and stopped.

Potter was no longer breathing.

Severus froze, rooted to the spot. He looked at Healer Meed--she was a Healer, she'd do something--but Healer Meed didn't move.

"I told you. I can do nothing for him." Healer Meed's voice quavered and her eyes shone with tears.

Severus turned back to Potter, his mind blank with panic. A bluish hue had appeared around Potter's lips. Severus raised his wand higher. No incantation came, no graceful and complex wand movements occurred to him. He had nothing but his fear.

If only he could reverse everything that had happened, everything he had done. If only he could knit together the tear he had made; if only he could restart the breathing he had stopped.

And then he heard music.

It wasn't in the room. There was nothing in that close, bare space that could make music. Even though he had seen her with nothing that could have produced that soft, stringed melody, he looked at Healer Meed. But she was making no music. Her head bowed in her hand, she didn't even seem to hear it.

Severus looked back at Potter. He still had no idea where the music came from, yet his ears were filled with the longing sound, that made him yearn for the magic that made the music, that made him want more than anything to be in the place where that music lived.

But he couldn't go there yet; not with Potter here, dead if he didn't do something. He could only hope that the door to that place would remain open long enough, that the magic flowing through it would be magic he could use to heal Potter.

He stared at his wand. What should he do with it? An instinct told him to place it on Potter's abdomen, near his groin, at the nether end of his Sectumsempra wound.

The music filled Severus's mind. Magic washed through him. He felt lifted, carried to the brink of something, somewhere that brought tears to his eyes. He blinked them away, until Potter's body came clear again.

Then words filtered into his mind. They were his words, he made them. He didn't receive them, as he received the magic and the music. So they didn't say very well what he wanted them to say, just as his voice didn't properly convey the music he heard in his mind. But for once he didn't care. He didn't measure up, although he was doing the best he could, but for once, it didn't matter. He simply sang.

_"Slicing sinew, breaking bone,  
Blood aflow with heartfelt groan._

_With all the cutting curse devise,  
To mend again, you must be wise._

_Take the thread of life in hand.  
Warp and weft you must command._

_Sing weave, weave, out of your soul,  
And knit the shredded body whole."_

Severus traced Potter's wound with his wand. Its bloody lips closed into a line of pink, freshly-knitted flesh.

Severus heard a gasp behind him: Healer Meed. His heart leapt into his throat. _He was healing Potter. He had found the counter-curse to Sectumsempra._ The charm spun out from his wand, the Knitting-Up Spell, _Textum._

With a harsh intake of breath, Potter's chest moved. Severus's wand travelled over the hill and vale of his breathing, knitting the cut over his stomach, his chest, his jaw. Colour rose to Potter's cheeks, pink displacing the grey. He gave a deep sigh, as if of relief, when Severus knitted up the last of his wound.

The music stopped. The door closed, the magic ended. Potter lay quietly, breathing evenly, looking peacefully asleep. Severus's hands were as close to him as they'd been before, but he no longer felt heat blasting from Potter's body.

Severus stared at him. He didn't feel triumph at his magical accomplishment. He didn't feel relief at escaping expulsion from Hogwarts and imprisonment in Azkaban. He felt numb, empty. He wanted that door with the magic behind it to open again, but he knew it wouldn't. There was no longer any need.

"Severus," said Healer Meed, and he looked up. Her eyes were shining, so that their many hues of grey looked like the facets of a jewel.

She approached Potter and touched his forehead. "His fever's gone. The Dark magic has left his body." Her fingers brushed the thin pink scar on Potter's torso that was all that was left of Sectumsempra, following the path that Severus's wand had taken. Her eyes widened.

"This scar--why, it's nothing but a line on top of his skin. Dittany three times a day for two weeks and I can erase it. The curse wound is completely healed." She looked at Severus. "You did it."

Severus looked back at her, and finally relief crept into his heart. "You'll tell Dumbledore?"

She picked up Potter's nightshirt, Vanished the bloodstain from its front, and they helped Potter back into it. Again Potter's eyelids didn't so much as flutter. He felt lighter, though. Less like a corpse.

They laid Potter back down and Healer Meed pulled the blankets up to his chin. "The moment James regains consciousness, Professor Dumbledore wants to know."

"When will that be?"

"Tomorrow morning, at the latest. Probably earlier."

Severus looked away. Suppose he had failed? Would she have delayed to tell Dumbledore that?

"We shan't be certain that James is cured until he wakes up and speaks. When that happens, Professor Dumbledore will return to St Mungo's. He wants to talk to both of you."

"Together?"

"Together."

Severus decided he could wait until Potter regained consciousness.

"But he will wake up, Severus. He's cured. I'm certain of it." Healer Meed smiled and touched Severus's arm. "And don't worry. Professor Dumbledore will be very proud of you when he hears what you've done." She looked at the ceiling. In a moment the air before her popped with Dilsey's Apparition.

"Good news, Dilsey. Severus has healed James, and I expect him to make a full recovery. I'd like you to begin a regimen of dittany, three times a day, applied to his scar. And the instant he wakes up, let me know."

Dilsey didn't answer. From the moment Healer Meed had said the words "healed James", she'd been gaping at Severus.

Severus gestured irritably at Potter. "If you don't believe her, look for yourself."

Dilsey gave Potter a cursory glance, then resumed her round-eyed staring at Severus. "Of course I believe Mistress Healer Meed. It is just that...well...you are a surprising person, Severus Snape, sir."

Healer Meed laughed. "Yes, he certainly is that." She took Severus's arm. "Come on, Severus. Let me buy you dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. We'll call Professor Dumbledore from there and give him the good news together."


	35. Hiring at Hogwarts

**Hiring at Hogwarts**

Late Winter/Early Spring, 1980

"Yes, Travers, I do very much want them dead," said Voldemort.

There were those among the Death Eaters who enjoyed hearing those words. Severus wasn't one of them. He would have followed the Lord's order to kill, were he given it, without a great deal of difficulty. He hoped. Torture was another story. He fervently hoped he wasn't given that order. But a Killing Curse to the heart, quick, clean, virtually painless--he thought he could do that. But he wouldn't enjoy hearing he had to do it, the way Travers so obviously did.

"You'll have your wish, my lord," said Travers softly.

And he might, since Travers's wish so clearly coincided with the Lord's. The McKinnons were tough, having thrown off several attempts on their lives before this. The Prewetts had been tough too. People had tried to kill them more than once, but once, Severus reflected, was all you needed to succeed.

"Let's hope so," Voldemort said, equally softly, though to Severus he sounded less sanguine. "And soon."

The Lord turned from Travers to Macnair, who sat at the far end of Lucius's drawing-room table, as if he wanted to avoid the Dark Lord's attention. If so, he failed.

"And I wanted you to find the Longbottoms for me, Macnair. Don't you remember?"

Macnair gulped. "Yes, my lord."

"You're not as capable as some, Walden. Perhaps not even as loyal."

"No, my lord!" Macnair said, then went white, as if he realised how that sounded. "I mean--I am the most loyal of your followers!"

Voldemort laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to punish you. Not yet, anyway. I'm going to give you some help. Bellatrix, here. She knows the Longbottoms better than you do. She was in Frank's year. Let her be your partner in crime."

Bellatrix should have revelled in such an assignment, as Travers revelled in his. Instead, to Severus's surprise, she looked irritated. To his greater surprise, she didn't try to hide her irritation.

Perhaps she didn't like Macnair.

"Snape knows the Longbottoms as well as I do, my lord. He was in Alice's year. Why not send _him?"_

Bellatrix looked at Severus with a curious mixture of triumph and resentment. Severus looked back without trying to hide his surprise. Since when had she begun questioning the Dark Lord's orders? Did she shrink from killing too? Somehow Severus doubted it.

Voldemort turned to her, also with surprise. But that was soon replaced by his smouldering, dangerous anger. "Do you object to my order, Bella?"

Severus's surprise turned to astonishment, for she looked not in the least frightened. "No, my lord. But he has been one of us since January, and it is now March. When does he get a job to do? When does he begin pulling his weight?"

An electric tension filled the drawing room. Severus wasn't the only one bracing himself.

Voldemort smiled, as if, impossibly, he were enjoying her rebellion. "Believe me, Bella, I understand your impatience. I almost sympathise." His smile vanished. "But I decide how and when to deploy the Death Eaters. Not you. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix composed her expression instantly, into remorseful deference. She knew she'd gone as far as she could. "Yes, my lord."

"Good," said Voldemort. He looked out over the table, at the rest of the Death Eaters. "The rest of you have your assignments--and, I trust, have no objection to them?"

"No--no, my lord!" came back the hasty murmurs.

"Then get to work."

With a hurried scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet, the Death Eaters headed for the door. Behind Bellatrix's back, Voldemort eyed Severus. From that, Severus understood he was to stay behind. He lagged at the end of the line, so that no one else noticed that the door closed before he had gone through it.

Voldemort regarded the portraits of Malfoys gazing superciliously down at him and Severus. "This place is rather overbearing. I do like Lucius's library better. Let's go there."

Severus preferred it too, in spite of some of the memories he had made there. He followed Voldemort into the library. The Dark Lord closed the door, lit a fire in the hearth with a flick of his wand and motioned Severus to a chair. After seating himself, he indicated the newspaper and journal that lay on the table between them: the _Daily Prophet _and the _Chronicle of Wizarding Education. _

"I told you the last time we met that there was a teaching position opening up at Hogwarts," said Voldemort.

He'd also said that he thought Severus was suited to it. In the Dark Lord's presence, Severus had allowed himself to dream. In Potions and Physics the next day, between the brewings, the deliveries and the emergency calls, the dream had slipped from his mind.

"It's for a Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Voldemort. "I'd like you to apply."

Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. The comfort, the prestige, the food alone.... Since leaving Hogwarts, he'd never tasted better food.

But Voldemort, as far as Severus could tell, did not particularly look after the comfort of his servants. Applying for a job, moreover, didn't mean you'd get it.

The Lord picked up the _Prophet_ and turned to the back pages.

"Here's the advertisement: 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, wanted:'" he read aloud. "'Instructor in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Experience in countering Dark magic in high-risk situations required. The successful candidate will demonstrate proficiency in classroom teaching and occasional research under the direction of the Headmaster. Competitive salary and benefits offered. Please send cover letter and CV to the attention of Headmaster A.P.W.B. Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"

Voldemort snapped the _Prophet_ shut and dropped it on top of the _Chronicle._ "Dumbledore has placed the same advertisement in the _Chronicle,_ and in a number of other educational and professional journals, Lucius tells me."

Severus only half-heard the last. Experience in countering Dark magic in high-risk situations? Proficiency in classroom teaching? Defence Against the Dark Arts had been Severus's favourite subject, even more so than Potions, but it had to be said: "Are you sure I qualify, my lord?"

"Why not? You've brewed potions against Dark magic in emergencies at St Mungo's. That should count as a high-risk situation. And what about Auror Dawlish? You healed him of Sectumsempra when the Casualty Department's Healer-in-Charge couldn't. Besides, as demanding as the advertisement sounds, I know Dumbledore's desperate. There's a high turnover in that job."

There'd been several Defence professors in Severus's time at Hogwarts, come to think of it. Was it a more stressful position than he'd thought? The "occasional research", perhaps. "There's more to this than my teaching a class at Hogwarts, isn't there, my lord?"

"Of course there is. Despite what Bella may think, I may be sending you into more danger than any of my other Death Eaters."

Danger? As a Hogwarts professor?

"You won't only be minding the children. I want you to keep an eye on Albus Dumbledore for me."

Albus Dumbledore?

Voldemort laughed quietly, at Severus's surprise, no doubt, which he wouldn't have had to sift through Severus's mind to find. "Yes. Albus Dumbledore. You'll be my agent at Hogwarts, the spy I place next to Albus Dumbledore."

Severus could only stare.

"I see you understand the danger. Dumbledore may look like Father Christmas, but he is not. He blithely sends members of his Order of the Phoenix against me, to their certain death. A death I am afraid I cannot always make easy for them. He uses those who depend upon him for approval, affection, protection, support. Now _that_ is the mark of a wizard who can kill." Voldemort smiled. "Trust me, I know. And how can we know what he did in the war against Grindelwald? Other than his heroic duel with the Dark wizard, of course. You weren't born, so you can't know. And I was too preoccupied to pay much attention."

Severus said nothing. The Dark Lord was rationalising. And yet he could envision the Dumbledore Voldemort described.

"He likes his own way," Severus said.

"Yes, he does," said Voldemort. "But in the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he stands in my way. I only say these things about Dumbledore to warn you what you're going into. I didn't test you as thoroughly as I'd like to have done, so neither of us can be absolutely sure you'll be safe. Dumbledore's a Legilimens. A reasonably powerful one too. You may know that."

"I've had my suspicions."

"I hope our Occlumency lessons have been enough. You won't be much use to me otherwise."

Severus took that in. "That's providing I'm hired."

"Oh, you have an excellent chance. According to my information, you're the only person who is applying."

The only person-- "How can that be? Everyone wants to be a professor at Hogwarts!"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Even I gave it a try. But Dumbledore never favoured me. At any rate, I can assure you my information is correct. You are the only one applying for the job. Dumbledore will have to plump for one of his cronies if he turns you down. The governors won't like that. He's done it too often in the past."

Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at the Hogwarts School. Was it really within Severus's reach? Merely for the price of reporting on Dumbledore?

"You have a special relationship with the Headmaster," Voldemort said. "The secret oath you swore to him. The flaming sword."

"What do you want to know about him?" asked Severus.

"Anything. Everything. All that you find notable. You'll be one of his teachers. The closest thing Albus Dumbledore has to family these days."

"Except for the Order of the Phoenix," Severus said, for come to think of it, he didn't know that Dumbledore had any blood relatives.

"I prefer to say the teachers. He doesn't generally kill them off."

Severus couldn't argue with that.

"You do know how to write a cover letter and CV, don't you?" asked Voldemort.

"I had to do it when I applied to St Mungo's," said Severus.

"Oh. I didn't, really, for my first job." Voldemort pointed his wand at the door and it opened. "Off you go, then. If you get an interview, let me know."

"Yes, my lord."

And off Severus went, thinking that spying on Dumbledore as a Hogwarts professor had to be better than killing and torturing, as long as he didn't get caught.


	36. The Oath

**The Oath**

June 1976

Severus lay awake for a long time after he and Healer Meed had their Floo-conversation with Professor Dumbledore. He couldn't get over the look of dumbfounded amazement on Dumbledore's face that the news of James Potter's healing had provoked.

It had taken the Headmaster several moments to master himself . Then, "Congratulations, Severus," he'd said quietly from the fireplace. "I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning to shake your hand."

****

He hadn't said he'd be bringing Potter's friends with him. But there they were: Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, eating breakfast in the common room with Dumbledore when Severus came downstairs.

Dumbledore looked up and smiled. Nevertheless Severus approached the table reluctantly. When he drew near, he felt the woolly closeness of a Blanket of Silence. All the noise from the kitchen and bar was gone. The sound of silverware clinking against crockery went quiet as Potter's friends stopped eating and stared.

Dumbledore stood and extended his hand. "Thank you, Severus," he said.

Hesitantly Severus took Dumbledore's hand. Although he saw nothing but relief and gratitude in Dumbledore's eyes, he couldn't meet them for long. "Er--you're welcome."

It was easier to return Black's resentful look. But Severus was distracted even from that when a savoury aroma of bacon and buttered toast reached his nostrils.

Dumbledore had lifted the cover from a dish set on the table before the remaining empty chair. "Breakfast," he said. "James awaits us."

Dumbledore spoke warmly, but that did not make Severus glow with renewed pride at his accomplishment. The whole business felt more like something he wanted to get over with as soon as possible.

They finished breakfast, with such sullen silence on the students' part that the Blanket was hardly necessary. The headmaster dissipated it with a flick of his wand and rose. "Let's go, boys."

With Dumbledore in the lead, they Flooed straight from the common room of the Cauldron to Potter's sickroom.

That came as a surprise to Severus when he stepped out of the fireplace. How had Dumbledore pierced Healer Meed's concealing magic? The question went straight out of his mind, however, when he saw Potter. Potter was sitting up in bed. His nightshirt was blood-free. He had his glasses on. The eyes behind them were wide.

"Snape," Potter whispered.

"Yeah, Snape," said Black. Dumbledore gave him a look, but Black wasn't the sort to wilt beneath looks.

"Hi, Padfoot," said Potter. "Remus, Peter."

Severus sidled away from the others. "We came straight here," he said to Healer Meed, who sat in a chair beside Potter's bed. "I thought this room was hidden from everyone but you."

"And I'm the one who linked its fireplace to the Leaky Cauldron." She rose, smiling, and took Dumbledore's hand. "At Professor Dumbledore's request."

" I thank you for that, Constance," said Dumbledore. "James. You're looking remarkably well. I'm glad to see it."

Or to have seen it, Severus thought, for you couldn't see anything now but the gaggle of Potter's friends surrounding him, muttering. They parted when Dumbledore spoke.

"Thanks, sir," said Potter. "I'm feeling pretty well."

"Thank Severus," said Dumbledore. All eyes turned toward Severus, and none belonging to Potter's gang looked particularly grateful. Potter himself stared in confusion.

"I suppose it's too much to ask yet." Dumbledore looked rueful but unsurprised . "Have your parents been to see you?"

"Oh, yeah!" Potter turned to Healer Meed. "Thanks for letting them in. They were a lot happier when they left."

"I was glad to be able to tell them you'd recover completely," said Healer Meed, smiling fondly at him.

How did Potter do it? He hadn't been awake twenty-four hours, and he already had Healer Meed cooing over him.

"At least it will make it easier for them to keep our secret," said Dumbledore. "If their son had died, I should think it would have been very difficult for them to lie about the cause of his death."

"Why do we have to lie?" Pettigrew burst out. "It's not like James is the only one of us Snape's tried to kill!"

"He's got a point there," said Black. Lupin looked pained but said nothing.

"I never meant to kill you, and besides it was an accident!" Severus looked irritably at Potter's friends. What was this all about, anyway? Why did they have to be here? "I meant the Firewhip for Potter."

"I'd gathered that," said Potter.

Severus didn't reply. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut in the first place. He didn't like the thoughtful look Healer Meed was giving him.

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "We did find out you had it in you."

Severus felt betrayed. She'd been inside his head; she'd seen what they'd done to him! _Me__? What about __them__? What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to? _But this time he did manage to keep his mouth shut.

"James nearly died, Severus," Healer Meed said quietly. "You were here when it happened."

Frowning, Potter sat up. "What's this?"

Healer Meed turned to him. "I can answer your questions after Professor Dumbledore is finished. Suffice it to say, that if it weren't for Severus, your parents would be preparing to bury you, not take you home."

That silenced him. He stared at Severus, but Severus didn't want to look back. He fixed his eyes on Dumbledore instead.

"Enough," said Dumbledore. He looked sternly at Potter, his friends and Severus. "We are not here to pore over old slights. Each one of you," he looked at each in turn, "has an apology to make."

_"I_ didn't do anything!" said Pettigrew, and everyone but Healer Meed looked astonished at this, Pettigrew's second outburst in as many minutes. "Well, I didn't!"

"True," said Dumbledore. "Except for stirring the pot just now, by accusing Mr Snape of trying to kill you."

"Oh--oh, right. I'm sorry."

"I'm not the person you accused." Dumbledore indicated Severus. "He is."

He was, of course, making it much more difficult. Severus, folding his arms and looking down his nose at Pettigrew, didn't intend to make it easier.

"Sorry," muttered Pettigrew.

"Do you think you could manage a complete sentence?" asked Dumbledore.

"Come _on!" _said Black.

"Quiet, please, Mr Black. You'll get your turn. Mr Pettigrew?"

"I--I'm sorry for accusing Snape of trying to kill me." Pettigrew choked gratifyingly on his words.

"Mr Snape?" Dumbledore's tone ruined the mood. "Have you any answer for Mr Pettigrew?'

"Oh! Er--apology accepted," Severus said grudgingly. Seeing Healer Meed lounging against the wall with a poorly-concealed look of amusement on her face didn't mend matters.

"Very good. Now, Mr Black. You seem eager to participate. And you did participate, in luring Mr Snape to what could have been his death, in risking Mr Lupin's exposure, which could have led to his execution, and, by means of your clever little prank, nearly getting Mr Potter killed. Not bad for one night's work."

"I didn't have anything to do with Sectumsempra; Snape cast that on his own--"

"Silence, please."

Healer Meed raised her eyebrows. She no longer looked even clandestinely amused.

"Do you really believe," said Dumbledore, "that Severus would have been at the Whomping Willow to cast Sectumsempra on James if you hadn't goaded him into following Remus? Do you really think we'd be here now if James hadn't gone to the Whomping Willow to save you from your own stupidity?"

Black looked mulish and said nothing.

"Well?"

"No, sir."

"You realise, then, that you have a good deal more apologising to do than Mr Pettigrew did. You need to apologise to Mr Lupin for risking his exposure at school as a werewolf."

Slowly Black looked toward Lupin.

"Not only that, you could have caused your friend to kill a fellow student." Dumbledore paused. "I suppose you still consider Mr Lupin your friend?"

"It's all right, Professor Dumbledore," said Lupin, looking uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, _I_ want to hear him apologise," said Potter. "Moony, you could have killed Snape! What would the Ministry have done to you then?" He turned to Black. "And how do you think he'd have felt about it once he came back to himself? You didn't care what happened to him! You didn't care what happened to either one of them!"

Black stared at Potter in shock. "I didn't think..." he faltered. Then he looked back at Lupin. "I'm sorry, Remus," he said, so softly that Severus could hardly hear him. "I'm sorry for sending Snape after you. I'm sorry for putting a human being in your way while you were transformed. I--I'm sorry."

Severus stared at him in wonder. Could even Black be that thick? Had he truly not realised what he had done until Potter had told him just now?

"I know," said Lupin. "It's all right."

"That, Mr Lupin, is precisely what it is not," said Dumbledore.

"Yes, sir?" said Lupin. Severus had to admire his calm. He would have cringed at Dumbledore's look.

"I won't say you're culpable in this incident," said Dumbledore. "I will say that you have clearly failed to impress upon your friends the very great danger you pose to the unprotected and the unwary when you are in transformation."

"Yes, clearly," said Lupin coolly. Potter, Black and Pettigrew exchanged nervous glances.

"I never expected that your dormitory mates would not eventually discover your true nature. But that discovery then made it your responsibility to enlist their help in keeping the school safe. I'd hoped that giving you a prefect's authority would instil in you enough self-respect to carry out that responsibility. Apparently I was wrong. If you'd got into the habit of standing up to your friends," here Dumbledore swept a displeased glance over Potter, Pettigrew and Black, "instead of going along with them for the sake of a superficial popularity, Mr Black might have thought twice before using you, a transformed werewolf, a deadly Dark creature, as a weapon in a childish rivalry."

Lupin wasn't as showily dramatic as Black. But his look spoke of a deeper, more elemental guilt, a companion that had been living with him for a long time.

Severus, who was watching him closely, started when Lupin turned to him with the same quietly stricken look.

"He's right. If I'd told them what it means to let loose a werewolf--if I'd really tried--"

"Stop it!" said Pettigrew.

"No, Moony!" said Potter. "So Sirius is a bonehead; what else is new?"

"Yeah, what else is new?" said Black.

Lupin turned back to his friends. "I said, Professor Dumbledore is right. I never made it clear to you lot. So let me make it clear now. Don't you ever--_ever--_do anything like that to me again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Black.

"Yes," said Potter. He looked very healthy, but not himself. Severus had never seen him give anyone such a clear and steady gaze. "I understand."

Lupin nodded and looked away. "I'm sorry, Severus. That's all I meant to say. I'm sorry."

"Do you understand?" said Dumbledore, looking at Potter. "Do you really understand?"

"Sir?" said Potter. Severus happily observed his anxiety.

"I should have said more of it before this, perhaps. Before it developed into a life-endangering problem. But you've developed into quite the bully. I can't enumerate all the detentions you've been given for hexing your fellow students for no good reason. Not that there ever is a good reason, but you don't even try to invent one. Why is that, do you think?"

Potter said nothing. But obviously he had sufficient blood in his body, for his face turned pink.

"Perhaps it's the fact that they _exist_, if you know what I mean?" Dumbledore's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Potter went from pink to scarlet.

It really couldn't get much better than this.

"It could be a case of plain stupidity," said Dumbledore beginning to stroll around the room. "Or it could be more. You could be under the impression that my friendship with your father gives you some sort of special privilege."

Potter blanched. Severus had never seen one face change colour so fast.

"No--no, I'm not!" stammered Potter. He slid Severus a fiery glance.

"No, Mr Potter. I don't need Mr Snape to tell me what goes on in my own school. I don't need him or anyone else to tell me that you honestly believe you can save yourself from expulsion from Hogwarts on the strength of your father's acquaintance with me. I can see that for myself."

Potter gulped. His mouth worked. Severus could remember few more delightful moments.

"How did you know?" Potter said.

"It doesn't matter how I know. What matters is you couldn't be more wrong." Dumbledore paused, gazing intently into Potter's eyes. "So you _did_ say that?"

"Say--say what?"

Lupin and Pettigrew looked baffled and dismayed. Black, his eyes straying from Dumbledore to Severus, looked as though he didn't know which one of them he wanted to hex first.

"You told Mr Snape that if he tried to tell anyone what you and your friends had done, you and Mr Black would use your fathers' influence to avoid any unfortunate repercussions--like getting expelled." Dumbledore surveyed Potter and Black. "With the result, no doubt, that you would make his life next year as miserable as you could. Since you do tend to do that to the people who cross you."

"James didn't do anything wrong, Professor Dumbledore," said Black. "All he did was try to protect Remus and Snape from what I'd done wrong."

"I can't fault his instincts," Dumbledore agreed. "Though he might have gone for his Head of House first. Professor McGonagall knows spells that are far more likely than a Stunner to stop a werewolf in its tracks." He turned to Potter. "But I can see how you thought there wasn't time. And you did well in rescuing Mr Snape from the transformed Mr Lupin. It was what you did afterward that was wrong."

"Wrong!" Black exploded. "And Snape bleeding him like a slaughtered pig--that was right?"

"It's all right, Sirius," said Potter. He turned to Dumbledore. "I was trying to protect Remus. I was trying to protect _you."_

"I don't need your protection," Dumbledore said coldly. "I don't need you insulting your father and me by using our friendship as a cover for your bullying. I especially don't need you believing you can use your family's wealth and connections and your own supposed purity of blood to cover up a prank that could have cost one of my students his freedom and another his life. That, my dear young man, is not what Harold Potter and I stand for. In case you didn't know."

Potter looked at him with a face like a marble statue.

"You owe an apology to Mr Lupin. And to Mr Snape."

Potter remained still a moment longer. Then he nodded and looked at Lupin. "I know how to make a prefect's life miserable, don't I?"

Lupin smiled. "Yes. You certainly do."

"I'll try to be a better friend." He tilted his chin toward Black. "And I'll stomp on anybody who makes that difficult for me." Black grinned.

There was a silence.

"You forgot about Mr Snape," Dumbledore pointed out.

"I paid my dues to Mr Snape," said Potter. "I saved his sorry hide, and nearly got murdered in return."

Dumbledore turned to Severus. "He has a point."

_"What?" _cried Severus. "You make him apologise to everyone else, but he gets to brush _me_ off?"

"He did nothing to you but save your life," said Dumbledore. "And make a few ill-considered, utterly baseless threats. You can't really believe I'd let my friendship with his father--"

"This isn't about you and Potter's father!" said Severus. He pointed a trembling finger at Potter. "He planned this--what did you call it--a _prank? _He and Black plotted to loose a werewolf on me, to scare me into keeping quiet about Lupin!"

"I did not plan it!" said Potter.

"To scare me or shut me up for good!" shouted Severus. "By _killing_ me!"

"Really, Severus--" Healer Meed began. Dumbledore cut the air with a gesture and silence fell.

"You overplayed your hand, James," he said, indicating Severus. "A bully can't expect every one of his victims to lie down and take it. Rebellion occurs, sooner or later. And the rebel tends to be someone who can fight back to good effect."

_That's right,_ Severus thought. He felt satisfaction begin to displace his anger.

"Or bad effect," said Dumbledore, looking at him; and the satisfaction went no further. "You, Severus, seem to be one of those people who treasure up your grudges until the slightest word, taken in exactly the wrong way, sets you off. Do you honestly believe that if James Potter had actually plotted to put you in the way of a werewolf, I would let him get away with it?"

Severus didn't answer right away. But he knew what Dumbledore wanted to hear. "I suppose not."

Dumbledore frowned. "Well, whether you believe it or not, I can assure you I wouldn't. You had no good reason to fill your spell with so much hate that you nearly killed James with it. And you had no reason to goad him into it," he said to Potter, halting the look of grim vindication that was crossing Potter's face. "I am the one who admitted Remus Lupin to Hogwarts. I am perfectly capable of protecting him while he's there."

There was another silence. Severus had the feeling that Potter was being as careful about what expression appeared on his face as he was. Then Dumbledore sighed.

"I'm not free of blame in this. I saw what was going on between the two of you. Your contempt and disdain," he said to James, and to Severus, "your resentment and fury. I watched it for years. I suppose at first I thought you'd work out your own way of tolerating each other. But when I saw you weren't--when I saw that each one of you was bringing out the worst in the other--I should have intervened. But I didn't."

"You've never liked messes, Albus," said Healer Meed. "You've never liked fussing about other people's feelings."

Their eyes met. Severus, who had felt Healer Meed's eyes, who had felt her inside his head, sifting his thoughts, could almost feel sorry for Professor Dumbledore.

"No," Dumbledore whispered. "I've never liked that."

He looked at Severus after a moment, then at Potter. "And I'm the older one here. Presumably, the more mature. So I should begin with the apologies, shouldn't I?"

Severus didn't know how to answer that. And Potter, with his round-eyed stare, didn't look as though he did, either.

"And so I must apologise to both of you," Dumbledore said. "To you, Severus: for not acknowledging your anger. I've been angry often enough myself, heaven knows. And you, James." Here his sober expression relaxed into a smile. "I should have seen that you were blind, thick-headed, boorish, inconsiderate--"

Potter drew down his brows. Dumbledore's smile broadened into a grin.

"I should have seen, in short, that you were an ordinary teen-aged boy. Having seen it, I should have--how did you put it?--stomped on you. Your father would expect no less."

Potter looked baffled for a moment. Then he gave a short laugh. "Yeah--yeah, I can see Dad wanting that."

"So, do you accept my apology?'

"Oh! Yeah, sure--I mean, yes, sir."

"And you, Severus? Do you accept my apology?"

Dumbledore's blue gaze settled on Severus, and, as used as he was to Healer Meed's looks, he still felt like squirming. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Since you both have forgiven me, I hope that you both will do something that I want very much. I want you to shake hands."

All Severus could picture was taking Potter's hand and wrenching it right off that wrist rendered spindly by his illness. He didn't even care that he was the cause of Potter's illness. He was glad of it, for it looked as though Potter would otherwise, once again, get off scot-free.

Potter looked equally reluctant, equally resentful. "I think I've been punished enough."

"It isn't a punishment," said Dumbledore. "Come now, both of you. I'm afraid I must insist. Ten seconds, and it'll be over."

Potter, evidently, couldn't yet move from his bed. It was up to Severus to go to him and extend his hand. He did so; and with a shrug and an exasperated quirk of his lips, Potter took it. They shook hands.

Potter's hand felt like a sack of bird bones, and his grip was weak. It was the handshake of someone who had been very ill. Of someone who had almost died.

_Because of me. _There was no getting around that. There never would be.

The exasperation cleared away from Potter's face. He looked intently at Severus.

Then their ten seconds were up. Potter's hand twisted in Severus's grip. Severus released him and backed away quickly.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. Severus found himself looking at Healer Meed, who gave him an approving nod.

"Very well, then," said Dumbledore. "We can proceed to something we all want even more, which is protecting Remus Lupin."

_Depends on what it involves,_ thought Severus, growing wary again.

"Or perhaps you don't want that so much, Severus. If so, think of it as protecting yourself."

"Why should we care about protecting him?" Severus heard Pettigrew mutter behind him.

"Come Peter, Remus, Sirius." Dumbledore beckoned them, waving his hand until they stood in a line before Potter's bed. "You, too, Severus," he said, and Severus was forced to return to Potter's bedside.

"We will protect Remus, we will protect the rest of you and yes, me, by keeping everything that has happened a secret."

"I don't need protection, sir," said Pettigrew. "And I don't want to protect Snape. Maybe I didn't come close to dying. Other than that, I don't know that the Firewhip was much more fun for me than Sectumsempra was for James."

"You've known I was a werewolf for four years, Peter,and never told anyone in authority," said Lupin. "You don't want that getting out, especially once you leave school and start looking into apprenticeships or jobs. If you'll protect a Dark creature, people will think you can't be trusted."

It sounded like something Lupin had thought over carefully.

"Yeah, you don't want that getting out," said Black. "You don't want Snivelly tattling on you. You don't want him protected while you're not."

"Mr Black," said Dumbledore reprovingly, and about time too. Healer Meed was watching Black with her eyebrows climbing practically to her hairline. She didn't seem to appreciate the Gryffindors quite as much as Dumbledore did.

"I think you take Remus's point, don't you?" Dumbledore said to Pettigrew.

"Yes. All right," said Pettigrew.

"I don't get it," said Potter. "What do we have to worry about? None of us are going to say anything; like you say, Professor, we've kept quiet for four years. And as for Snape," Potter eyed him, "he knows better than to talk. He's got his own secret he'll want to keep now."

"You kept quiet for four years. Until Sirius decided it would be good fun to put a scare into Severus Snape," said Dumbledore.

The Gryffindors exchanged glances.

"The fact is," said Dumbledore, "no secret can remain secret once it escapes its original keeper. I suppose I always knew that about Mr Lupin's secret. Perhaps I hoped--fondly--that if his secret did get out, Mr Lupin's virtues would outshine the world's prejudice."

"They have," said Potter. He smiled at Lupin, who shook his head but also grinned.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Inside Hogwarts, among friends who know him well. But even those friends don't seem able to keep him safe. Then there's the wizard who healed you. I want him safe too. The two of you can't seem to keep from fighting with each other. I don't want this to become part of your everlasting row."

Potter frowned at Severus. "How did you do it, anyway?" He touched his breast, laying his hand over the line Sectumsempra had etched into his body. "The healing?"

Severus looked at him in silence. He thought of the ride in the St Mungo's coach, of Dumbledore pulling the curtain of silence on the mediwizards muttering over Potter's unconscious body. He thought of Healer Meed combing through his mind. He thought of his struggles to produce a Patronus, of Healer Meed's struggles with the worst of his memories beneath the Veil of Tears. He thought of the music of Textum, of magic spilling into his hands through a door cracked open on another world. He thought of all of it and didn't want to tell any of it to Potter.

"I worked out a spell and cast it on you," said Severus.

Potter stared at him, but he was no Legilimens. "Yeah. Right."

"And so," Dumbledore resumed, "I've thought that we ought to place our secret-keeping promises on a firmer foundation."

"How firm?" said Healer Meed. She looked rather anxious.

"Oh, I don't mean you, Constance. Your Aesculapian Vows are quite strong enough. And have you ever even been tempted to break them?"

She didn't answer that. "You have no vows that could hold me if I wanted to break them. I mean the boys. There are promises--and the breaking of them--that can ruin lives. They have very long lives ahead of them."

"The Heart's Vow," Dumbledore said to her, "not the Unbreakable Vow. They will want to keep that promise, not merely fear the consequences if they don't."

"The Heart's Vow?" said Potter. "What's that?"

"The Heart's Vow? I thought that was a wedding vow," said Pettigrew at the same time.

Dumbledore looked at Pettigrew over the top of his glasses. "It can be. How did you know?"

Pettigrew's chubby cheeks turned pink. "My mum and dad exchanged Heart's-Vows at their wedding. You know, that they'd love each other forever. They told me about it."

"Indeed." Dumbledore eyed him a moment longer. "Well, Mr Pettigrew. You've named a characteristic category of the Heart's Vow, due to its nature as an expression of the heart's desire. When I administer the vow, it will mean that there's nothing more I want at that moment than to keep the incidents of the Shrieking Shack tunnel and the Whomping Willow a secret." With one glance he took in Potter, his friends and Severus. "Before you take the vow, you must be sure want the same, because after you take the vow, you will want it as much as I do."

Severus had no desire to be known as Potter's near-murderer. He also had no desire to be enslaved to Dumbledore's desires. "Why will we want it as much as you do?"

"Because with the vow comes a single drop of my soul, deposited into your heart. You will absorb that drop into your own soul, making the desire I have placed in it your own. I lose nothing of my soul by imparting a drop of it to you, because, in the Heart's Vow, we'll be increasing the good in the world by protecting two decent people: yourself, Severus, and Remus."

"_Two _decent people?" said Potter. "That's a matter of opinion."

"Mr Snape could have left you to die. Instead, he worked very hard to create the complex piece of Light magic with which he saved you."

"He wouldn't have had to _save_ James if he hadn't practically _killed_ him in the first place," said Black.

"You two do mean to help protect your friend, don't you?" said Dumbledore. "Because the Heart's Vow is the best way I know of doing that."

"All right," said Potter. "Yes, sir."

"I do want to help _Remus_," said Black.

"Shall we proceed, then? And Constance, you will witness that the vow was freely given and taken?"

"Certainly."

Her strange eyes rested on Potter and his friends. They squirmed slightly, as if for the first time they sensed her power. She didn't look at Severus, but then, what inside him had she not already seen?

"I should clarify before I begin," said Dumbledore. He smiled at Pettigrew. "For those who aren't fortunate enough to know someone who has taken a Heart's Vow. This isn't an Unbreakable Vow. You won't die if you renege. You will feel pain if you break it--the pain of giving up your heart's desire. Perhaps, even at your young ages, you know what that is like."

Severus, thinking of Lily, knew what that was like.

"And, unlike the Unbreakable Vow, the Heart's Vow may not be permanent. As we grow, we change, and that change may include a change in our heart's desire. If, someday, to keep secret Sirius's folly, James's disdain, Remus's condition and Severus's deadly spell is no longer your heart's desire, then you may find it possible--if never pleasant--to disregard the terms of the Heart's Vow." Dumbledore looked at them all. "Does that seem fair enough, then? Does this seem a vow that you can take?"

What choice did Severus have? It was far more likely that the world would believe Potter's claim that he'd nearly killed him through Sectumsempra than it would believe Severus's claim that Lupin was a werewolf who had been hidden at Hogwarts since his first year. Not least because there was one objective witness, Meed, who could testify against him. Who would testify against Dumbledore, Lupin and his friends? The teachers, who had cooperated in Lupin's concealment for years? And no one knew first-hand what Black had done but Black, Potter and Severus. It would be Severus's word against theirs.

They knew what he could do to them with his spell for enemies, though. That was enough.

"Yes, sir," said Severus.

It didn't seem a difficult choice for Potter and his friends either. "Yes, we'll take it."

"I'm afraid you'll have to kneel to take the vow." Dumbledore looked slightly embarrassed. "It's not me. One must demonstrate the proper reverence for the passage of a droplet of soul, that's all. All except you, James. You can be excused for health reasons. Who would like to go first?"

"I will," said Severus. Might as well get it over with.

Dumbledore nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

Severus stepped forward and knelt. The stone floor felt hard against his knees, and cold, in spite of a fire that roared with enough heat to keep the invalid Potter warm.

Dumbledore took his hand.

_"Do you swear that you will tell no one what happened at and beneath the Whomping Willow on the night of the twelfth of June?"_

Dumbledore's voice sounded like the funeral bells that had used to toll over Spinner's End, from the church near the river. Disconcerted, Severus looked into his face. A fire not reflected from the hearth burned in his eyes.

"I--I do."

_"Do you swear that you will reveal to no one that Remus J. Lupin is a werewolf?"_

"I do."

As he spoke those words, Severus felt first his fingers, then his hand grow warm. A soft light rose from his and Dumbledore's clasped hands, surrounding them. It was silvery, like the light above Healer Meed's Pensieve, but unlike that light, it was not a mist. It reminded him of the silver phosphorescence of the moon-shifting mushrooms.

The warmth spread from Severus's hand to his arm. It spread through his chest until he felt it enter his heart. Until that moment, Dumbledore watched him with tense expectancy. When Severus's heart warmed, Dumbledore's face relaxed into a smile.

Then Dumbledore's face disappeared. Before Severus's eyes rose the Sword of Gryffindor. He recognised it only by its ruby-encrusted hilt, for its long blade was wreathed in flame. Severus could hear the flame rumbling and snapping, like fire consuming wood. Around the sword floated Dumbledore's whisper:

"Do you see it, Severus? The burning sword?"

"Yes," said Severus, and the sword faded away. Dumbledore's smiling face took its place.

"Good. That means you have truly taken the vow. Its requirements are your heart's desire."

"Sword? What sword?" said Potter.

"You'll find out," said Dumbledore, going to Potter and extending his hand.

Potter and each of his friends took the Heart's Vow, and by their wide eyes and whispered exclamations, Severus could tell that each one saw the blazing Sword of Gryffindor. Lupin was last to take the vow, and when he was finished, an expression of immense relief spread across his face.

"There we are, then," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What say you, Constance? Is all in order?"

"If each oath-taker has seen your sword, then all is in order."

"Oh, yeah, I saw it! It was something," said Potter.

"I'll say!" said Black.

"Yeah!" said Pettigrew.

"I've seen it, like I said," said Severus.

"So have I," said Lupin. "I was really impressed, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore laughed at that. "Why, thank you, Mr Lupin!"

Healer Meed gave each a searching glance as he affirmed that he'd seen the sword. "Yes," she answered Dumbledore. "I'm satisfied. They've taken the Heart's Vow. Its terms are their hearts' desire."

"Good," said Dumbledore. He looked at Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew and Severus. "If the opportunity or threat that you will reveal our secret should arise, you will see my sword. It will be a warning to you and something, I think, of a guard upon your tongue. This oath you have taken can be broken. You will always be able to reveal the secret you've just sworn to keep. But for a while, anyway, it will be among the last things on earth you want to do."

Oath or no, Severus couldn't see himself wanting to announce to the world that he'd nearly killed James Potter. Nor did he expect that Potter and his gang would want to make Lupin's lycanthropy a topic for general conversation. But Dumbledore had a point in administering an oath. Things could change.

"Well, then!" said Dumbledore. "We'll be taking the train to Hogwarts in the morning, James, broom-flying being rather hard on old bones like mine--"

"I'd thought to discharge James to his parents tomorrow," said Healer Meed. She smiled at Potter. "But you could go with them if you'd like."

Potter's face lit up and his friends crowed with delight.

"As long as you check in with Madam Pomfrey the moment you arrive at school," said Healer Meed.

"Anything you want!" said Potter. "I'll drink a cauldron of that Blood-Replenishing sludge, if that's what it takes!"

"Happily, Blood-Replenishing sludge is no longer necessary." Healer Meed smiled at Severus when she said that, but he pretended not to see.

Dumbledore positively beamed. "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, then, James, tomorrow morning at nine o'clock?"

"Yes, sir!" Potter pumped his fist into the air. "Free at last!"

Black laughed and punched his shoulder, but not too hard.

"Oh, and we have a ready-made study group, for those who've fallen behind in their homework," said Lupin, grinning.

"No slackers allowed," said Pettigrew.

Severus turned toward Healer Meed as they spoke.

"Snape." He heard Potter's voice behind him. He paused for a moment, then turned back.

Back to a rosy face, to eyes open and clear. "Thanks for healing me."

What was he supposed to say? You're welcome? He wasn't.

Severus nodded. He turned again, to see Healer Meed, Dumbledore and Potter's friends all watching him. He lifted his eyebrows, trying to look as though it didn't matter.

"Shall we?" said Healer Meed, opening the isolation room door.

"'Bye Remus, Sirius; 'bye Peter!" said Potter.

"Good-bye!"

"Nine sharp, mate; no sleeping in!" said Black.

Healer Meed and Dumbledore led the way into the shadowy corridor. Potter's friends followed, jostling one another and chortling over the onerous assignments they'd set Potter and the practical jokes they'd play on him.

Severus hung behind. _Thanks for healing me._ Potter wasn't welcome. On the other hand, Severus was safe at Hogwarts for his seventh year, not booted out of school and clapped in Azkaban. Unlike Potter, he would be catching up on his homework and studying for his final exams on his own, but he didn't care. He'd never liked studying with anyone but Lily, and he would never study with her again.

Potter's friends went further ahead, taking their irritating chatter further away. Soon they'd turn the corner and with a turn of their stomachs enter the normal, unenchanted world.

Soon they did so, and a minute passed before Severus followed them out of the corridor.

As he might have expected, they were concerned with the state of their stomachs.

"Feels like I'm going to lose my lunch...or my breakfast, rather...told you there was something funny about that bacon."

Dumbledore shushed them. "It's perfectly normal," he said in a low voice, so that the people bustling past the Acute Spell Damage Ward desk didn't hear. "I told you, James is kept in a magically isolated section of St Mungo's. We've just crossed from the hidden to the public part of the hospital. That's why our stomachs are churning." He patted his stomach, as Potter's friends did theirs. Huddled, their backs turned, they did not see Dilsey behind them, walking past the desk.

Dilsey and Lily Evans.

Healer Meed saw Dilsey and Lily. So did Severus. Lily didn't see them. She attended to Dilsey, and when the house-elf extended her hand, Lily took it.

They turned the corner around the desk, stepping into the space Severus had left a few moments before. Then they seemed to disappear into the press of people constantly patrolling the hallways of Acute Spell Damage.

But Severus knew Lily and Dilsey weren't in the crowd. They were in Healer Meed's otherworldly corridor, at the end of which was James Potter's isolation room.

She'd looked worried, had Lily. Worried about that boy she was _not _going out with, whom she did _not _like any more than Severus did?

There was nothing else to concern her in that room at the end of the magical corridor, no one and nothing there more important than James Potter.

Severus took a step toward the otherworldly hall, even though he knew he couldn't enter it without Healer Meed.

And sure enough, "Severus?" Healer Meed said quietly, appearing at his side. "Don't you want to go back to the Leaky Cauldron with the others?"

"--lunch!" Dumbledore was telling Potter's friends cheerfully. "And the freedom of Diagon Alley after!"

Which meant that Severus ought to be able to avoid Potter's friends after lunch. He knew his way around Diagon Alley as well as they did.

"All right," he said to Healer Meed.

He'd be better off in the Leaky Cauldron, eating lunch with Potter's friends, than he would be in Potter's hospital room, with no company but Potter, Lily and possibly a house-elf, if Dilsey hadn't the tact to leave them alone.


	37. Two Interviews

**Two Interviews**

Spring 1980

The Dark Lord gave the _Daily Prophet_ and _The Chronicle of Wizarding Education_ to Severus. He took them home, wrote his cover letter and CV and sent them "to the attention of Headmaster A.P.W.B. Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

In less than a week a red-sealed envelope appeared in the owl post box outside his window. He opened the envelope, pulled out the letter and read:

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_Having reviewed your application for the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, I should like to invite you to interview for the job._

_If you can meet me for the interview in the Hog's Head Tavern, Hogsmeade, on 26 March at seven o'clock in the evening, please respond by return post at your earliest convenience._

_Thank you for your application and your time. I look forward to hearing from you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Severus stared at the letter. He'd made it. Well, the first step, anyway.

But the Hog's Head Tavern? Wasn't that the place on a side street in Hogsmeade, run-down, patronised by the disreputable, that people said smelled like a goat-pen in need of cleaning? Why would Dumbledore want to interview a prospective professor there? Never mind how the interviewee might feel, what about Dumbledore himself? He was someone who seemed to like his creature comforts. Why give them up? Why not interview the candidates in his office?

Unless he wanted to be secretive about it. The Hog's Head was well off the beaten track--so far off that Severus had never been inside.

But why be secretive? _Because he's Dumbledore,_ thought Severus. Besides, it didn't matter. The Dark Lord wanted him to take this job. Just as importantly, Severus wanted it. In the past couple of years, he hadn't thought about much beyond getting a toehold in the world of work as an Apothecary at St Mungo's and finding peace in his private life. Yet if you'd asked him while he was at school what was his dream career, he might very well have said a professor at Hogwarts. If he had been able to imagine that such a career could be within his reach.

Severus sat down at once and composed a reply to Professor Dumbledore:

_Dear Sir:_

_Thank you for agreeing to interview me for the position of Hogwarts Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. As per your letter, I shall meet you for the interview at the Hog's Head, at seven o'clock on 26 March._

_Thank you again._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

Severus sealed the letter and took it to the post office, where he rented a tough-looking tawny owl to carry it from London to the Scottish Highlands, to Hogwarts Castle.

****

Severus made a scheduling switch with Bermsley so that he could get the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of March off without having to explain to Apothecary Morgan why he needed the time. _"Oh, for an interview for a much better job than this one, that I'll snap up the moment it's offered to me!" _That would certainly go over well.

He took an express train to Hogsmeade. As he had no intention of staying in the Hog's Head any longer than he had to, he took a room at the Three Broomsticks and ate his dinner before embarking for the Hog's Head.

By then it was pouring rain. Under the storm's lash, piles of slush melted into puddles the size of small ponds, around which Severus carefully picked his way. Perhaps he should have asked whether the Hog's Head, like the Three Broomsticks, was linked to the Floo Network, but he was afraid the Hog's Head might have the sort of filthy, half-blocked chimney where you could get stuck and suffocate on the smoke. He was probably safer walking.

Finally he arrived. In the dark entryway of the Hog's Head, he wiped his feet on a ratty door mat and shook the raindrops off his travelling-cloak. Then he went inside.

The smell hit him first, rank, with an overlay of goat. But at least the place was warm and dry, thanks to a bright fire in the grate, whose light caused the shadows of two patrons seated at a table to dance on the nearby wall. Neither of the customers was Professor Dumbledore--far from it--and there was no one at the bar.

He couldn't have been early. It had taken too long to walk from the Three Broomsticks. Was he late? Had Dumbledore already left? Severus pulled out his watch. 7:05. He was a little late, but surely Dumbledore would have waited five minutes?

"Lookin' fer someone?"

Severus looked up. One of the customers, a fellow with three days' worth of stubble on his chin and a cold pipe in his hand, looked back.

"Er, yes, actually," said Severus. "I have an appointment." How stupid did _that_ sound? "You haven't seen a--ah--wizard, have you? Long white beard, half-moon spectacles, glittering robes?"

"You mean Dumbledore?" said the other patron, a scrawny wizard with a large Adam's apple and a squeaky voice.

"You know him?" said Severus, startled.

"Sure we do," said the first wizard, who, having taken a pouch out of his pocket, was tamping tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. "Comes in all the time, doesn't he?"

"I don't know," said Severus. "Does he?"

"Why wouldn't he, when his own--" The wizard halted suddenly in the act of lighting his pipe with his wand. "You don't seem to know Professor Dumbledore very well. Why are you meeting him _here?"_

You tell me, Severus thought. "I've come for an interview. He's hiring staff for next year. You do know he's the Headmaster of Hogwarts, don't you?"

"'Course we do!" The wizard stopped. He took his pipe out of his mouth and stared with slackened jaw at his scrawny mate. "So that's what they were going upstairs for!"

They both shouted with laughter. The skinny wizard ended up hiccoughing for breath, so that his Adam's apple bounced up and down in his throat. "Didn't I say he'd _never--"_

"No!" gasped the other. "You said _you'd_ never, not in a million years, she wasn't your type!"

Severus waited until their laughter wound down to stupid-looking grins. "Do you think you could answer my question? Have you seen Professor Dumbledore?"

The first wizard put his pipe into his mouth and jerked his thumb toward a dusty-looking staircase. "Up there," he said around the pipe stem.

"Having an _interview_ with the lady," giggled his skinny friend.

As unbelievable as those two seemed to think it, that was probably the truth. _Competition,_ Severus thought.

He didn't want the competition to edge him out of a job. Neither, he surmised, did the Dark Lord. Was there any way to find out how the competition was doing?

Severus headed for the staircase, to the sound of the wizards snickering behind him_._ He tiptoed up the stairs, for he doubted either interviewer or interviewee would care to know there was an eavesdropper around.

For eavesdropping, Severus now realised, was exactly what he intended to do.

He reached the landing and entered a hallway lined on both sides with scratched and peeling doorways. He was used to rough accommodations--Spinner's End and Linden Lane came to mind--yet he couldn't imagine spending a night here. How Dumbledore could think of holding job interviews here--

The sound of voices behind the first of the doors cut off Severus's train of thought.

Male and female voices, murmuring indistinctly. Severus hesitated a moment--what if the wizards downstairs were right, and Dumbledore was entertaining the witch, not interviewing her? No, Dumbledore would never do that. Not now. Unless he'd forgotten that he'd also scheduled an interview with Severus.

There was only one way to find out if Dumbledore was interviewing the witch. And if he was, there was only one way to find out if he wanted to hire her for the job Severus sought.

Severus bent down and put his ear to the keyhole.

"I'll be frank," Dumbledore was saying easily. "I've never set much store by Divination. But it is a required part of the curriculum, and the current incumbent having seen with her own Inner Eye herself struck dead in the traces if she did not retire within the year, I am, as you can see, in need."

"I knew you were in need," the witch said dreamily. "Which is why I was not in the least surprised to find your advertisement in _The Seer's Catalogue_ when I opened it last week."

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. "And did you sense my reservations as well?"

"There are always frauds, of course. One does not need to possess the powers of the Inner Eye--as I do in abundance--to see that."

"Indeed not," Dumbledore sighed. "One needs only to have lived upon this earth for a certain number of years. No doubt, however," he said more cheerfully, "as you are not a fraud--you would never have presumed to apply if you were--you can make me a prediction."

"A--a prediction?"

"Why, yes. Perhaps you can tell me which House team will win our school Quidditch Cup this year?"

There was a silence.

"Or, failing that, perhaps you could tell me what the Hogwarts house elves plan on serving for dinner next Tuesday?"

Another pause. Then the witch said loftily, "The Inner Eye does not submit itself to mortal commands."

Severus swallowed his snort of contempt. All fortune-tellers were frauds--he agreed with Dumbledore on that. This one was no different. Certainly she was no competition for him, in any sense.

He heard a chair scrape inside the room. "I'm grateful to you, Miss Trelawney, for taking the trouble to accommodate me for an interview," Dumbledore said. "It makes me very sorry, therefore, to have to tell you that I don't believe you would be suitable for the post of Divination teacher at my school."

Severus straightened. He might as well go back downstairs and wait his turn. The only reason he hadn't gone down before this was that he hadn't fancied renewing pleasantries with the pipe-smoking wizard and his scrawny friend. But perhaps they'd left, and if they hadn't, he knew enough to ignore them.

Then, from the other side of the door, came the unmistakable sound of someone choking. Frowning, Severus bent back to the keyhole.

"Miss Trelawney?" Dumbledore's voice held a note of alarm. "Are you all right?"

The answer came in a harsh, deep voice Severus didn't recognise. The sound of it alone sent a chill through him. And then he heard the words.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...."_

_My God. _Severus pressed his ear closer, against the cold metal of the lock plate. Then a vice clamped down on his arm. He was yanked upright and wheeled around.

The vice was a knobby-knuckled, work-roughened hand. The hand belonged to a wizard with wild white hair and beard, who wore a rain-spattered farmer's smock and smelled like a barnyard.

"What do you think you're doing?" the old wizard demanded.

"Why--er--nothing!"

"Eavesdropping on my guests!_"_

"I wasn't eavesdropping! I was just waiting--"

_"Liar!" _The wizard's voice rose to a shout. He shoved Severus hard, down a couple of stair steps. Angered, Severus went for his wand, but the old wizard pulled his first and pointed it at Severus's chest. The door opened then, and light spilled into the hall.

Dumbledore stood in the doorway, looking from Severus fumbling in his robes to the furious old wizard, wand out, hair flaring around his head like a silvery corona. "Is something wrong?"

Severus drew his hand from his robes and stood gaping and speechless, watching his hopes for a professorship at Hogwarts swirl down the drain.

"I came upstairs to see if Miss Trelawney needed anything, and I found _him!" _The wizard shook his wand at Severus, who dodged a shower of sparks. "Eavesdropping!"

"Calm down, Aberforth," said Dumbledore. He turned. "Severus?"

"You _know_ him?" Aberforth demanded.

"Quite well, in fact. I'm sure he meant no harm. Why _did _you come up here, Severus?"

"Our interview, sir...it's past seven o'clock...I thought...." Miss Trelawney edged around Dumbledore as Severus spoke. She was a thin witch, with round-lensed spectacles that seemed to magnify her eyes.

"I was looking for you, sir," Severus said.

"In _my_ room?" said Miss Trelawney, looking theatrically offended.

Severus looked at her. Gone was the deep, hoarse, bone-shaking voice; she spoke in tones only ordinarily shrill. She looked perfectly commonplace, perfectly unaware of what had just happened in her room. "I came the wrong way."

"You came exactly the wrong way if what you wanted was to peep and listen at keyholes!" said Aberforth.

"Peep and listen!" squeaked Miss Trelawney.

"That's right, and I won't have it!" Aberforth backed Severus down the stairs at the end of his wand. "I want you out of my tavern, off this property now!"

The ruckus brought the pipe-smoker and the scrawny wizard to the bottom of the stairs, where they hooted taunts at Severus. "I do have an interview with him, Aberforth," said Dumbledore, his voice nearly drowned in the tumult of the wizards' laughter and Miss Trelawney's scandalised shrieks ("I _never--! _I knew this place was disreputable, but _really!")._

Without taking his wand off Severus, Aberforth shouted over his shoulder. "I've had reason to mistrust your judgement before! If you want to interview him--if you want to take the chance of exposing schoolchildren to him--you can interview him at Hogwarts!"

Burning with rage and humiliation, Severus broke and ran, pausing in the entryway only long enough to grab his travelling cloak before he burst through the door of the Hog's Head Tavern, slammed it furiously and raced out into the rain.

****

With the mud sucking at his boots, Severus's run soon slowed to a trudge, and his fury melted into despondent fear. He hadn't got the job, that place next to Dumbledore that the Dark Lord wanted him to get. He hadn't even got an interview. What would be the Dark Lord's reaction to a Death Eater who had failed so miserably at his first assignment?

Had he failed, though? He wondered as walking wore out his fret. What about Miss Trelawney's strange fit? Fit, or trance? What about those words, spoken by a prospective Divination teacher, which had sounded very much like a prophecy?

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...."_

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Miss Trelawney's words were shocking enough. But her choking before she'd said them, the harsh tone in which she'd spoken them, the fact that she didn't seem to remember afterward a single word she'd said.... Was she like the oracles of old, who, struck into foaming fits by the gods, had prophesied truly?

Severus started at a loud _pop!_ beside his ear. He jumped back when Dumbledore appeared.

Dumbledore's face was nearly covered by his hood, but Severus recognised him by his long white beard, which moved as he tilted his chin toward the Hog's Head. "He lets me Apparate in and out. Fortunately, or I might not have caught up with you."

They were approaching the Hogsmeade high street. Looking at Dumbledore, Severus hardly knew what to say.

Dumbledore sighed. "I apologise for the fracas back there."

"It wasn't your fault. The landlord got upset."

"Still, I feel responsible. You were rattled just before our interview." Dumbledore glanced again toward the Hog's Head. "Would you like to go back anyway and give it a try?"

"He wants me off his property."

"Oh, that. I've fixed things up with Aberforth. He'll lend us a parlour."

Just like the old Patronus-conjuring days. "All right."

They walked back towards the Hog's Head. "If you do come to work at Hogwarts, Miss Trelawney will be a colleague," Dumbledore said. "I was interviewing her when Aberforth interrupted, and I've decided to hire her as Divination professor. I hope that won't be a problem?"

Severus looked at Dumbledore, but, through rain and darkness, his hooded form revealed nothing.

Before her fit, Dumbledore had turned down Miss Trelawney's application. After her fit, he wanted to hire her.

"No," said Severus. "That won't be a problem."

They returned to the Hog's Head. They passed the bar under Aberforth's cold blue gaze and entered a parlour. They sat, and Dumbledore pulled out a paper.

"Your curriculum vitae." He scanned it, returned it to his pocket and looked up. "It's quite impressive, really. You had very good marks while you were at Hogwarts. I'd forgotten that, since you weren't first in your year."

Potter had been first, with Lily a hair's breadth behind. Severus maintained his pleasantly neutral expression.

Dumbledore pulled more papers from his pocket and looked them over. "All good evaluations at St Mungo's. You're a good Apothecary. Good enough for Barty Crouch to recruit you for his project in Azkaban."

"Recruit" wasn't the word Severus would have used.

"The Wizengamot appointed me to the commission that investigated the project's failure. Reid and Crouch are entirely to blame. They should have known that Dementors wouldn't simply stand--or drift--by while a prisoner was being interrogated." Dumbledore looked at Severus over the top of his glasses. "You did well, dispelling them. Combating vicious Dark magic. Just the experience I need in a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled. "So carefully modest! I haven't finished praising you yet. I'm impressed by the way you and James Potter linked your Patronuses, doubling your magic to drive off the Dementors. _Most_ impressed."

Severus remembered their gaping maws, his own desperation. "It was a matter of survival."

"It often is, where the Dark Arts are concerned." Dumbledore consulted his papers. "And then there's Sectumsempra."

Severus said nothing.

"You healed Auror Dawlish of it. You gave Textum to Healers Sage and Wort." Dumbledore smiled. "_That_ raced through St Mungo's like wildfire. I do wonder, though, how the Death Eaters learned Sectumsempra?"

Severus was ready. "The Whomping Willow wasn't the only time I used Sectumsempra. I was known for it in school, actually. Nothing so severe as the spell I cast on James Potter."

"Or I would have heard of it."

"Yes, sir. I suppose someone saw it who was clever enough to pick it up." Severus paused. "I regret that."

Dumbledore eyed him. As if responding to an instinct he hardly sensed, the Mental Mantle cast itself over Severus's mind, rippling into folds like the corrugations of his brain.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I am, after all, looking for a professor who defends against the Dark Arts, not one who practises them."

Severus ducked his head, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. No doubt he looked ashamed, which he wanted to do, but he also avoided Dumbledore's searching eyes.

"On the other hand, there's your Patronus," Dumbledore said softly. "And your creation of Textum." He was silent for a moment, then said, "Tell me, Severus. Why do you want to be the Hogwarts Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Severus looked up.

"It's a fine line, isn't it, sir? To defend against the Dark Arts, you have to understand them. You have to know how a curse will react to the magic, the intention, the personality of the wizard who's casting it. To understand something as complicated as the Dark Arts, to learn it, you have to be--very interested in it."

He'd almost said _fascinated._ Dumbledore obliged. "Fascinated by the Dark Arts, you mean."

Severus proceeded carefully. "I think you have to be like Healer Meed, sir. You remember when I was training with her."

"Very well."

"She's acquainted with a great deal that's Dark. I'm sure she has to be, in her job as a Psychic Healer. And you said she went to school at Durmstrang Institute. They teach the Dark Arts there."

"That's so." Dumbledore was giving Severus his full attention.

"So I'm certain she understands the Dark Arts, perhaps as well as anybody I've ever met. Perhaps as well as anybody can. And yet she isn't Dark."

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate. "No, she isn't," he said after a moment.

"I want to be like Healer Meed. I want to master the Dark Arts, not be mastered by them," said Severus, and it was true. He didn't want to be Ruskin or Bellatrix Lestrange, driven mad with devotion. "I think I could do that as professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. I think you fully master a subject by teaching it, don't you agree?"

Again Dumbledore did not immediately answer. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I do." There was another silence, during which Dumbledore fussed with his papers, folding them and returning them to his pocket. "Well, this has certainly been an interesting interview." He glanced ruefully at the door, on the other side of which, Severus supposed, Aberforth still stood behind his bar. "And more stressful than it needed to be. You've been very patient, Severus." He rose, extending his hand; Severus stood and shook it. "Thank you for coming, and for putting up with, ah--things. _Were_ you listening at the keyhole, by the way?"

"I heard a choking sound. I thought someone had been taken ill."

"Was that all you heard?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore surveyed him. The Mantle, soft and filmy, yielded without giving way. "Miss Trelawney was upset, you understand. I want to be able to assure her that our conversation remained private."

"Of course, sir. I understand."

"Good, then. Good." Looking preoccupied, Dumbledore turned toward the door.

"When may I expect to hear from you, sir?"

"Hear from--? Oh, I'm sorry, the professorship!" What else? Severus wondered, while Dumbledore stood for a moment with his head cocked. "Give me a week. I'll know my decision then. I'll owl you."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome." The Headmaster held the door open, and with great effort Severus avoided giving him an odd look as he went out.


	38. The Prophecy Children

**The Prophecy Children**

Spring-Autumn, 1980

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born as the seventh month dies...."_

That was four months away, fortunately, for Severus couldn't really make a judgement about what he'd heard. Or what he thought he'd heard. Fortune-tellers were frauds, and even when they weren't, their prophecies had double or triple meanings.

But whatever the meaning of what he'd heard, it wouldn't be safe to delay reporting it to the Dark Lord. The Lord was hard-headed, yes: one who, Severus thought, wouldn't be susceptible to the oily superstition peddled by most Seers. He was also self-centred. Nothing was more important than what was important to him. A prophecy predicting his possible downfall certainly fell into that category.

Thus Severus owled Lucius at once, to ask him to tell the Dark Lord ("our friend," in their code) that he had heard something in Hogsmeade which might be of value to him. The wording was perhaps too vague to convey the importance of his information, but Severus did not want Lucius to guess what that information might be. Further, he was using a post owl, and though that was safer than Floo-calling, he supposed it still might be intercepted.

He was thinking like a spy. Although spies, he reckoned, would at least own their own owls. If Dumbledore hired him, that would be his first purchase.

In a couple of days, owls returned from both Dumbledore and Voldemort. Severus read Dumbledore's first.

_Dear Mr Snape:_

_Thank you again for taking the time to interview for the position of Hogwarts Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. My considered opinion, I am sorry to have to say, is that the job would not suit you._

_I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavours._

_Sincerely,_

_A.P.W.B. Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Severus nearly threw the letter into the fire in frustration. He'd wanted the job for himself even more than he'd wanted it to gain the Dark Lord's favour. And then he shivered, for what about the Dark Lord? Prophecy or no prophecy, how could he consider this anything but failure?

He crammed Dumbledore's letter into his pocket and opened the Lord's.

_Come to Malfoy Manor tonight._

_V._

He put Voldemort's letter in his pocket with Dumbledore's, threw Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped into the flames.

****

A hawk owl, hooting shrilly, flew at Severus as soon as he stepped out into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He threw up his arm to protect his face, and it closed its talons around his forearm.

"Don't worry. It's yours, so it won't hurt you," said Voldemort.

Severus lowered his arm and looked into the owl's blinking golden eyes. "It's ridiculous," Voldemort said, "for one of my Death Eaters to be communicating by post owl. At least when he communicates with me or mine. Darius was bred in Lucius's owlery, and I've seen Lucius's owls. They don't let themselves get interfered with. Make Darius your familiar, and you'll be safe."

Severus looked at Darius, who blinked back at him loftily. In childhood, he'd always wanted a familiar, but Mother could never afford to buy him one. "Thank you, my lord."

Darius flapped off to a perch in the corner. Severus would have to buy a perch for his flat, and a cage--

"Well?" Voldemort cut in. "What have you to say to me? Did Dumbledore hire you?"

"No," said Severus. Voldemort stared coldly. Severus could feel his anger building, like the oppression before a storm. "But that wasn't what I wanted to say to you."

"No, I should think not," said Voldemort softly. He began pacing the drawing room, his robes swirling around his ankles as he turned. The Malfoy portraits remained tactfully still and silent, just as the Malfoys themselves, it appeared, were tactfully absent. "Did you get as far as an interview, at least?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Did Dumbledore say why he didn't want you?"

"Not during the interview." Severus remembered Dumbledore's perplexed look. "He seemed undecided then." He took Dumbledore's letter from his pocket. "All I have is this."

Voldemort took it from him and read it. "Are you sure he doesn't know?"

"About what, my lord?"

"About you! What you are! That I sent you!"

What could Severus say? "I don't believe so, my lord."

"You don't believe--!" Voldemort looked ready to throw a curse at Severus, but then seemed to think better of it. "Oh, never mind. I can't spare the people, but I'll have you watched for a week or so, to make sure Dumbledore hasn't put the Order on your trail. What else did you have to say to me?"

"Before he interviewed me, Dumbledore interviewed a Seer for a Divination teacher's position at Hogwarts. She gave him what I'm fairly certain was a true prophecy about you."

Voldemort stopped in his tracks. "Tell me more."

Severus repeated every detail surrounding Miss Trelawney's prophecy. When he was finished, Voldemort resumed his pacing, his muttering of the prophecy weaving in and out of the slap of his feet on the flags.

_"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies....' _And then the barman dragged you away from the door."

"Yes, my lord."

"So you didn't hear everything they said." _Slap, slap, slap. _"But you heard enough. This baby, born as the seventh month dies--at the end of July--to parents who have thrice defied me...." The Lord stopped again, to look at Severus. "Why, it must be killed, that's all."

This baby. "Are you sure it's a baby, my lord? The prophecy could refer to an adult enemy, one not yet known to you, perhaps."

"No, no Severus. Born as the seventh month _dies_, not _died. _In the future, not the past. Born to those who have _thrice_ defied me--was that conceivable before Dumbledore formed his Order? Although Dumbledore could be the father, I suppose, if he weren't a dried-up old--well, never mind. I am sure that this one with the alleged power to vanquish me is not yet born, will not be born for four more months. That gives me time."

Time to find the baby and kill it. Time to find the mother and kill her, before the baby was born. Two birds with one stone. After all, she had defied the Dark Lord thrice. "I see, my lord."

"Too bad you don't work at St Lovechild's Lying-in, instead of St Mungo's Hospital. You could keep an eye out for expectant mothers at the right time without attracting much attention. As it is, since I'll have to divert people to find the child.... No." Voldemort shook his head. "I've trained you in Occlumency, but with you working in a place crawling with Legilimentes, with Meed, the strongest of them all, as Head Healer... it's too risky. If Dumbledore won't take you, I can't use you. I don't want it getting back to him that I've heard about this prophecy. I want him to go on believing that I don't know."

What happened to a Death Eater whom the Dark Lord couldn't use? "Is there no way I can serve you, my lord?"

"I'll keep you in reserve. Why not? Not everyone flies out on midnight raids; leave that to people like Bella. I'll play you as I need you. And I'm sure I'll find a need."

****

After that, weeks passed. Except for the occasional tingling on his inner arm, Severus was forgotten by and occasionally even forgot Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Not often, though. Far more frequently, when he undressed at night or bathed in the morning, he found himself staring at the death's head tattoo on his inner forearm. The snake emerging from the skull's mouth seemed to writhe with the changing colours of the Mark.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters left Severus alone. They did not leave their enemies alone. As the days lengthened and the air warmed, A&E filled with the Dark Lord's victims. Not a few of them were victims of Sectumsempra, and from time to time Severus saw Healers casting Textum as deftly as he, its creator, had ever done.

The Aurors' victims piled up too. Severus was the only one at St Mungo's who wasn't surprised, but then he was the only one there who had worked on Barty Crouch's project in Azkaban. He'd had the qualifications, personal and professional: Barty Crouch, come to think of it, hadn't judged him so differently than Voldemort had done. Dumbledore alone didn't want Severus working for him.

Severus would have enjoyed the relative peace and quiet if he weren't dogged by the feeling that there was a shoe waiting to be dropped. And then one mild evening in May the shoe fell.

He was home, sitting by his open window, his dinner eaten, the sun setting the sky above the city aflame. He looked up from his evening paper to see a shooting star headed straight toward the window.

He threw down the paper and stood up. A shooting star before nightfall, flying so low that it practically skimmed the rooftops? And then the star shot through the window into Severus's sitting room, where it billowed into a ball of silver flame. Severus sprang back with a cry. Just as he pulled his wand to conjure a jet of water, the fiery ball resolved itself into a magnificent, regal-looking bird, swan-sized, with a long, flowing tail.

A phoenix, but without the phoenix's colours. Severus crept forward a step and saw that the bird was not flesh but mist. Silver mist in the shape of a phoenix: a Patronus.

"I know what you are," said the phoenix-Patronus in cold, hollow tones, in a voice Severus could not mistake: Dumbledore's. "You have given yourself to Lord Voldemort. You are a Death Eater."

Severus froze. "Who--who told you that?"

"You don't doubt your new friends would betray you? You betrayed yourself. I examined the memory of our last meeting, for I felt something strange in you then. I found half-learnt Occlumency, a Mantle thrown over your intention to spy for your Master as a teacher at my school."

Severus stared at the shining phoenix, into its glittering black eyes. Shaking with fear, he couldn't speak.

"Voldemort sent you to me, you of all people..." the phoenix murmured softly. Then it reared up, spreading blinding white wings, and Dumbledore's voice rang out from his Patronus. "I will never let you near my students. Never set foot in Hogwarts again, Severus Snape, or you will not be safe from me."

The phoenix flew to the ceiling and bent its head toward Severus, as if it meant to stoop on him. Severus threw himself back against the wall, but the phoenix veered toward the window instead of diving at him. It condensed itself into the pebble of silver fire that Severus had mistaken for a shooting star and zoomed out the window, into a sky alight with the colours of sunset.

It was only then, still trembling, that he remembered that he had never heard of a Patronus harming anyone.

****

Severus lived a week in terror, expecting the Aurors' knock on his door at every moment, sure that he would be dragged back to Azkaban as a prisoner instead of a Potioner. Warden Reid would give him a fine welcome, no doubt.

But nothing happened. He went to work every day. No one there seemed any the wiser. If anyone followed him home, he wasn't aware of it--which meant that whoever the Dark Lord had assigned to watch him was very skilful indeed.

Two weeks brought him to another Death Eater meeting, which ended once again with no assignment for him.

"Still not risking your poxy hide, Snape?" Bellatrix hissed in a vicious aside. Severus sidled away, giving her a wide berth as she filed out to the broom shed with the rest of Lucius's friends. He'd got to a shadowy corner when a bony hand touched his arm. Heat seeped through his sleeve. Starting, he met Voldemort's eyes, two embers glowing in the dimness.

"My lord."

"Just to let you know, Severus. What we spoke of last--seems safe. No one has followed you, and none of my sources in the Ministry has heard so much as a whisper on the subject. I'll be stepping up my search." Voldemort's needly teeth caught the firelight. "It won't be long now."

He gestured to the fireplace. With a whispered "Yes, my lord," Severus stepped into the grate and Flooed back to his flat.

****

Spring eased into summer. Leaves thickened on the trees and rumours grew as fast as the flowers in the little park across from Severus's mansion block. _"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... the Death Eaters... be careful what you say, be careful what you do, choose your friends carefully, and are you sure they __are__ your friends? For Merlin's sake don't write that letter to the __Prophet__ complaining that the Ministry aren't doing enough about those Muggle-baiting hooligans.... Unless you want them coming round to __your__ house late one night...."_

Severus did little but work, had little to do with anyone outside of work, even Mother. In no time the summer also began slipping away; in no time July crossed into August.

On the morning of the second, Severus was stocking potions in A&E when Harding came up. "We're taking a collection for Lily Potter. Want to contribute?"

Severus nearly dropped the bottle of Skele-Gro he was putting into the cabinet. "Lily Potter? Why, what's happened?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's good. She's had her baby."

Potter's baby. Relief washed through Severus nevertheless. "Oh."

"It's a boy, born the thirty-first, mum and baby are doing fine," Harding recited. Then he eyed Severus. "You don't have to give if you don't want to."

"I don't have to sign anything, do I? A card, anything like that?"

Harding's eyebrows rose slightly. "Like I said--not if you don't want to."

"I'll give." Severus patted his pockets distractedly. "But my wallet's upstairs. I'll send something down in a paper aeroplane, all right?"

Harding shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Severus half-turned to the cabinet, then turned back. "I suppose that means she'll be coming back to work?"

"After a maternity leave, I reckon." Harding shrugged again. "Not that I'd know."

_Nor I,_ Severus thought, turning back to his work.

****

Potter's _brat, _he thought ill-temperedly, later, when he had the time.

****

Summer slid into autumn. Severus heard nothing more of Lily, beyond what Harding had told him. He heard little of anything else, but that didn't bother him _either_, he emphasised to himself. The Dark Lord never had trouble getting hold of him if he wanted him. And Mother was fine. She had been fine for months.

Then he heard from the Dark Lord. Or rather he felt him on one day in October, burning in the Dark Mark on his arm. Fortunately he was at home, for he cried out with the pain of the Dark Lord's demand.

Even Flooing wouldn't be fast enough. Gasping, Severus rose from his chair and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

****

Under the circumstances, he was lucky not to have Splinched. As it was, when he popped into existence in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, Severus had to grab a chair (ornately carved and, luckily again, heavy enough to hold him) to keep from stumbling. He straightened and looked around.

It was a meeting, he took it, but much smaller than usual. There was Evan Rosier, cool and unruffled as usual, if slightly bemused. Rodolphus Lestrange was there, looking tense, but that meant nothing, since Bellatrix was at his side. Her jaw was tight, her colour high and her eyes were wild with barely-contained madness. Rabastan was with them, his eyes glittering with interest. There was Dolohov with his accustomed sneer--really, Severus couldn't ever remember seeing either that or fear on his face.

Then there was Lucius. And although it might be typical of Bellatrix to look mad, to see Lucius with face flushed, breathing short and eyes ablaze was something quite unusual.

Finally there was the Lord, seated with his back to them in a chair by the fire. He rose, and all eyes went to him.

He too had a fire, an intensity in his eyes. Severus noticed it mainly because it provided a life he hadn't realised was lacking before. Before this, the Dark Lord had been dead. Now he was alive.

In his way. A way of living unlike any Severus had seen before.

Severus glanced around. Lucius and Rosier, perhaps, shared his amazement. Perhaps. The others, as if the Lord had cast an enchantment on them stared at him with unmitigated worship.

The Lord cast his fiery gaze over them. "My Inner Circle."

His Inner Circle. Severus's heart warmed, in spite of the tension humming through his brain.

"You are here," said the Lord, "because I have something very important to tell you." He looked around again. "I have decided whom I will kill."

Around him Severus heard shifting and tiny sighs. Some, evidently, feared they had drawn the short straw.

"You remember the prophecy I told you about," said the Dark Lord.

There was palpable relief. "Why, yes, my lord," said Rosier.

So they knew. "I have decided," the Dark Lord repeated, "whom I will kill."

"The Longbottoms," said Bellatrix. "Alice whelped at the end of July."

"Patience, Bella," said Voldemort. "Do you not wish to hear my reasoning?"

She sensed the danger. "Oh--oh, yes, my lord."

"It is true that your cousins have given me trouble." The Dark Lord lifted his gaze again to the rest of the group. "Frank and Alice Longbottom have made the defence of Muggles their specialty. In their official capacity as Aurors who formed and lead MLE's Muggle Protection Squad, they have better contacts among the Muggles than Dumbledore himself. Connections, of course, which Dumbledore has scurried to put to use. Do you remember that hunting expedition we went on outside Glasgow last winter, Dolohov?"

Severus slid a glance toward Dolohov. He was grinning with animal fury. "Oh, yes, my lord."

"Yes. Well, Frank and Alice wouldn't have got away, along with half the wedding party, if it hadn't been for that pesky Muggle woman and her shrieking daughter. I was distracted. Still, the Longbottoms are very powerful. Distractions or no, I can't think of many others who would have escaped me. That was the first time they defied me. I can see you won't be happy to learn, Antonin, that there were two others. That accident at St Pancras's last April, where a train jumped the tracks. The Muggle newspapers were astounded that no one was killed and only a few were hurt. _That_ was the Longbottoms' fault," said the Dark Lord with peevish resentment. "I cursed the engineer from the concourse; I wasn't even on the platform. I'm still wondering who saw through my Disillusionment and called MLE." He cast a dangerous look around his Inner Circle, as if he expected to find the guilty party there. Dolohov and Bellatrix looked furious; the rest looked uneasy. No one seemed as curious as Severus.

Meanwhile, as he mulled over being thwarted, the Dark Lord grew angrier. "I couldn't even put a few Dementors into Bethlem Hospital. Dumbledore put Frank and Alice Longbottom on patrol in Bromley that night, and they linked their Patronuses to drive my Dementors away." He turned a burning glare on Severus. "I thought only you and Potter knew how to do that."

Those eyes. Severus's stomach clenched with fear. "Why--no, my lord. It's rare, but it's an established aspect of the charm."

"It is now. Perhaps Potter taught it to them. Another reason for selecting his family, not Frank Longbottom's."

Murmurs arose. "My lord?" said Lucius.

"No, Lucius. I am leaving aside the old enemies for now. There are new enemies, a blood traitor who has betrayed his lineage even more than the Longbottoms have done, if that is possible. One who married a Mudblood and had a child with her at the end of July." The Dark Lord fell into singsong. _"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies....' _They also have thrice defied me in Dumbledore's service. The feat isn't as rare as I'd like it in the Order of the Phoenix, unfortunately. I really shall have to do something about that Order, once I dispose of James and Lily Potter and their son."

Severus began to tremble. He quelled it at once. The mental mantle rippled across his mind.

"Lily Potter!" said Bellatrix. _"That_ paltry witch?"

"No, Bella," said Voldemort. "Paltry is one thing she is not. She makes very good use of the magic she shouldn't have, that she doesn't deserve. Mudblood she may be, but she's very powerful. Why, I even thought of inviting her to join us. She said no."

"And you let her _go?"_ said Bella.

"Not without cracking her bones first, to remember me by. But yes, I let her escape. I thought I might try again later." Voldemort smiled slowly. "I see you think I made a mistake, Bella."

"Why, no--no, my lord," Bellatrix said quickly. "You never make mistakes."

"I'm flattered, Bella, but no. Sometimes I do make mistakes. I perhaps should not have let Lily Potter live." Voldemort went cold. "I won't make that mistake again, with her or her husband. They are Dumbledore's favourites, the most powerful, the most dangerous of his Order. They must be. Living on after I have killed their son, they will be all the more dangerous. They will seek vengeance. So no, I will not permit that. All three must die, and by my hand, do you understand? I will kill them myself."

He let his gaze travel from Bellatrix as he spoke, to rest on each of the others in turn. Severus felt sick with the effort of controlling his terror, but, like the others, he said, "Yes, my lord," when the snake's eyes reached him. His mind's invisibility cloak, his mental mantle lay undisturbed. The Lord did not know it was there. The Lord did not perceive what he felt.

There was a short silence when Voldemort was finished. Then Lucius said, "I don't question you, my lord, but--are you sure it's the Potters you want? They're not even Aurors."

"Potter couldn't hack the training programme, I heard," said Rabastan. "He dropped out. He's living off his father's money now."

"No, no," said Voldemort. "The prophecy does not refer to the Longbottoms. The Longbottoms oppose me, and for that they'll die. But they're almost--_good_ enemies, if you understand me. Pure-bloods from the best families, highly-trained professionals, an able witch and wizard...why, you can respect yourself facing an enemy like that. It's like fighting Dumbledore. While the Potters...the wizard's a parasitic fop; I wasn't living off my father when I was his age! The witch is a climber of a Mudblood, scheming her way to a rich pure-blood husband. Their son, if the prophecy is true, and I know it is--their son is a half-blood of immediate Mudblood heritage, rising up to mock us_. _Compare that to facing a shining pure-blood youth. As much as we may deplore the Longbottoms' politics, we can respect ourselves in fighting their son."

Like the others, Severus kept his eyes fixed on the Lord. For a very different reason than they did, perhaps, but his rapt attention taught him something: the Dark Lord did not want Potter's son dead because he thought the boy didn't deserve to be his enemy. He thought that Potter's son, not Longbottom's, was the one he should fear, his true equal, capable of destroying him if he did not destroy him first. The Longbottom child's pure blood didn't matter to him in the least.

The Dark Lord was lying to his prized followers, his Inner Circle.

Severus glanced around. No one else looked sceptical, but they could, like him, have been hiding their true feelings.

"If you wish to kill them, my lord--" Rosier began.

"All three of them. With my own hand."

"How can we help you?" Rosier asked.

"Yes, my lord," said Bellatrix. "How? I could have flushed the Longbottoms out for you. Shall I find the Potters and bring them to you?"

"If you can." Voldemort's voice fell to the edge of a whisper. "They seem to have disappeared. Again."

"Again?" said Severus.

"Why, yes. You didn't notice your colleague was absent from work?"

"We work in different departments."

"Wait." Bellatrix turned toward Severus. "Lily Potter. Lily _Evans. _She was your little friend at Hogwarts; she came from the same cesspool of a mill town you came from, didn't she? I heard Narcissa and Andromeda talking one Christmas. You and Evans spent the summers together, you rode in the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express back to school every September, you hung about together at school. You were a prefect then, remember, Lucius? Narcissa said you ought not to let him spend so much time with a Mudblood Gryffindor."

"She _was_ my friend," Severus cut in. Bellatrix ignored him.

"Did _you_ know that, my lord?" she demanded.

Voldemort stared at her, but she was so wrought up she very nearly didn't quail. "I have not forgotten your service to me," he said after a moment. "That--_alone_--stays my hand. But you would do well to stop questioning my judgement."

Bellatrix's lip quivered.

"She married _Potter,_ for God's sake, Bella," muttered Rodolphus. "I hardly think that makes her Snape's friend."

"You were telling us how we could help you, my lord," Lucius said smoothly, after a pointed look at Bellatrix and Rodolphus.

"Thank you, Lucius. You will look. Your father is a trustee of St Lovechild's as well as St Mungo's. Perhaps Lily Potter delivered there; if so, perhaps you can find out the Potters' address. Rodolphus, you work for the Ministry Inland Revenue_. _Few sources of information, I find, are more accurate and up-to-date than the tax rolls. You can check them; perhaps there you will find out where the Potters live. The rest of you," Voldemort said, "will spread out across the land, Wizarding and Muggle. You will use every connection, every resource you have to find the Potters. Any of you who capture an Auror or a member of the Order will interrogate him for the Potters' location before killing him. And see to it you do kill him afterward. The last thing--the _very_ last thing I want is for Dumbledore to find out that I've discovered his secret."

The mental mantle blanketed Severus's brain. Beneath it, his mind raced. He'd find Lily, he'd warn her, that was all right, it wasn't disloyalty, the Dark Lord wanted Potter's child, not her--

"Except for you, Severus."

Voldemort yanked him from the spinning panic of his thoughts. "My lord?"

"You'll stay right where you are, go on as you have done at St Mungo's. Lily Potter doesn't know she's your enemy, does she? She'll still speak to you?"

"Yes, my lord."

"If she returns--why do they say she's out, by the way?"

What did he want? "Maternity leave," said Severus.

"Oh, yes, of course. Perhaps she has friends, co-workers, who know where she's living now. They must have sent her baby gifts. Christening gifts by now, if her baby was born at the end of July."

_As the seventh month dies..._

"Whoever did so must know her address."

_"We're taking a collection for Lily Potter. Want to contribute?"_

Harding.

"Or at the very least a forwarding address. You see where I'm headed, Severus. The rest of us have to go looking for Lily Potter. You're surrounded by people who may well know where she is. Her co-workers, her friends, her supervisors. The St Mungo's personnel department."

He'd have to give her to the Dark Lord.

"Because where she is, there will her family be also. There will be the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."

If and when she came back to work (_After a maternity leave, I reckon), _he'd have to hand her over. And if she didn't come back, he'd be expected, like a good Death Eater serving his Dark Lord, to exert himself, among her co-workers, her friends, her supervisors, the St Mungo's personnel department, to find out where she'd gone.

"So you'll go on just as you are, working at St Mungo's. Because I'm sure, sooner or later, you'll be able to assist me there."

"Yes, my lord," Severus said numbly.

"Very well, then," said Voldemort. His cold eye swept over the wizards closest to him, his most trusted associates. "You have your assignment. Find the Potters. And no, Bella, don't bring them to me. Just tell me where they are. I'd like to surprise them."

The Inner Circle laughed. Severus laughed with them. He had once loved a woman the Lord wanted dead, but he didn't want any of them reminding themselves of that just now.

****

Or he loved her now. How else to explain what he did next?

Severus hung back, allowing the others to file or Floo from Lucius's drawing room. He approached the Lord from behind and touched his inhumanly hot arm.

He shouldn't have done that. The Lord whirled, a blur, and pointed his wand at Severus.

"Merlin's beard, Severus, what do you think you're doing!" Lucius exclaimed.

"Yes," said the Dark Lord, his wand unwavering. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'd like to speak to you, my lord," said Severus. He glanced at Lucius, who was the only other one left in the room. "Alone."

Voldemort stared at him for several painful moments, but the mental mantle had never been more snugly wrapped around his mind.

The Lord lowered his wand. "Leave us, Lucius."

Lucius looked from Voldemort to Severus, frowning. "Yes, my lord," he murmured, and with a slight bow to the Dark Lord he left.

"Very well, then," said Voldemort. "What is it?"

"Lily Potter." For no other reason would Severus have borne that oppressive attention. "I wish--I ask you to spare her."

"Spare her?" Voldemort asked softly. "Now why would I want to do that?"

Why? Why? "Because I want her." Severus lifted a corner of the mantle. Memories oozed out from underneath like greasy smoke. Lily's breasts swelling her robe as she'd bent over the moon-shifting mushrooms, Lily stepping through the portrait hole on the night after O.W.L.s, dressing gown flung over her shoulders, her face flushed with sleep. The dreams he'd had of her on the torturous path from boy to man, the waking to sheets clinging damply to his belly and hips.

"You want her. What makes you think you deserve her?"

"I don't. But you've sought her as a Death Eater." Where did this courage come from, this giddy invention? "With Potter and the child dead, I could give her to you."

"You were supposed to give me Dumbledore's secrets. You don't seem to have managed that." The Lord looked at him and smiled contemptuously. "Really, to see you of all people in the throes of lust, asking me for another man's wife... I always thought you protested your hatred of her a little too loudly.... But tell me. She's bound to find out you're the one who betrayed her. With Potter and the boy dead, do you really think she'll want you?"

Severus allowed his answer to be true. He hated Potter and anything that was of Potter enough for that.

"Does it matter?"

Voldemort's eyes widened. Then he threw back his head and laughed. Severus did not think he had ever heard mirth so devoid of delight. "Really, this could be amusing. After all I've asked of Bella, to name only one--well, I do owe her some entertainment. And I can guarantee that she would find you and Lily Potter entertaining." He eyed Severus, then added, "Or should I say Lily Evans? There will be no Potter about her then."

She would be alone, as in the old days on the shadowed river bank, when he had been the only wizard she had known.

_"It __is__ real, isn't it?"_

_"It's real for us. Not for her."_

_It's real for __us__. Not for anyone, __anyone__ else._

"Lily _Evans,"_ Severus whispered, uncaging his longing for the Dark Lord to see.

Voldemort laughed at him softly. "You did bring me the prophecy. That's something. If she doesn't give me trouble, I'll consider it. Now go."


	39. Dealing with Dumbledore

**Dealing with Dumbledore**

Autumn 1980

Severus stared into the fireplace out of which he'd stepped--he didn't know how long ago. He'd lit neither fire nor candles since arriving home, so he couldn't see the clock on his mantelpiece. He didn't pull his watch from his pocket, didn't light his wand. He sat in cold, smothering darkness and thought of nothing but that he had condemned Lily to death.

Memories, all of Lily, unquelled by Occlumency, flooded his mind, from the first day he'd seen her with her sister at the playground.

"Remember, Lily, you heard Mummy. No more of your freak tricks. You shouldn't have let Mrs Atkins see you doing that to the teapot."

"It poured tea! How did that hurt anybody?" Lily wore a defensive look that even at the age of nine Severus understood all too well.

"It poured tea _without anybody touching it._ No wonder Mrs Atkins hasn't been back. Who wants to be friends with somebody whose daughter's a freak?"

"I'm not a freak!"

Obviously it was an old argument. Obviously Lily knew rejection. Was that what had brought Severus back to the playground again and again? Had he needed more than magic? Had he needed someone else whose family thought they were a freak?

He was wrong about that, as he was wrong about so much concerning Lily. Her parents loved her magic. Petunia, consumed with envy, made herself the outsider by insisting on hating it.

Severus took Lily away from Petunia, to Hogwarts. And for a time as magical as the ever-changing ceiling of the Great Hall, the moving staircases, the fearful creatures of the Forbidden Forest, he had her to himself. Her laughter, her red hair, her green eyes strange even among wizards, but to him, he slowly realised, beautiful.

Beautiful as they had put their heads together over homework assignments in the library, as he'd craned his neck to look at her from the Slytherin table at mealtimes; beautiful as he'd raced her across the Hogwarts lawns in the long spring evenings, as he'd said good-night to her beneath the Fat Lady's portrait.

Beautifully, brilliantly reflecting the light of Lord Voldemort's curse.

_"You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."_

Her way, which had led her into the Dark Lord's sights.

_"We have to fight him, we have to get rid of him before our children are old enough to suffer the way we've suffered."_

She was a member of the Order. He'd known it before the Lord had told him so, on the night he'd taken the Mark. And yet he had carried Trelawney's prophecy to the Dark Lord. He could tell himself he hadn't known it referred to Lily. He couldn't pretend he hadn't known what the Dark Lord would do.

_I can't pretend anymore._

He couldn't pretend any longer not to know what Voldemort was about. He'd seen Dawlish and the Prewetts, he'd been to meetings with Lucius and Bellatrix, Dolohov and Travers. He bore the Dark Lord's Mark. He was a Death Eater. Death Eaters dealt in death.

_Like it says on the tin, innit?_ Tobias would have said.

Severus leapt from his chair and paced about the sitting room, dodging chairs and tables by memory alone. _I can't pretend. _If he didn't do something, Lily would die. Do what? He didn't know. He could ask Mother, perhaps; she was a pure-blood, she knew these people. All except the half-blood Lord Voldemort. And what if he attracted the Lord's attention by going to her; what if he put his own mother as well as Lily into Voldemort's sights?

No. He had to do this himself. But he couldn't fight Lord Voldemort; he wore his slave's brand on his left arm. And now he was back in the chair before the cold fireplace, bowed over his lap, his head in his hands. There, crouched, he heard an animal's cry of pain.

No, not an animal's, unless he called himself that. His own cry of pain.

_Someone help me, please._

No one answered. He sat curled in misery, in the darkness for he didn't how long, until an idea trickled into his brain. Slowly he straightened, slowly rose to his feet. There was one wizard who might help him, one whom the Dark Lord seemed to fear.

With an absent flick of his wand, Severus lit the candles in the sitting room. Realising that he was shivering, he pointed his wand at the fireplace, where flames sprang to life.

Dumbledore. If he wanted to. But how to reach him? Not by a fireplace connected to Malfoy Manor, nor an owl given to him by the Dark Lord. Did he dare go to Hogwarts?

_"Never set foot in Hogwarts again, Severus Snape, or you will not be safe from me."_

Dumbledore was capable of killing, Voldemort had said. If Severus disobeyed the phoenix's order, Dumbledore might kill. If he found out how Severus had betrayed Lily, he might kill. It didn't matter. Severus couldn't imagine the alternative, standing by and letting Lily die. He was reaching for his train schedule--perhaps there was an express train to Hogsmeade tonight--when something else occurred to him.

If Dumbledore had sent his Patronus to speak to Severus, then Severus could send his Patronus to speak to Dumbledore. It would be quicker than the Hogwarts Express, and safer, for what if some Death Eater saw him boarding the train? He had no business going to Hogwarts; he wasn't a teacher, he had no child there. But he didn't know how to send messages by Patronus.

_I've made up a bit of a spell, _Dumbledore had said. Severus didn't know the spell; he couldn't send his cry for help by Patronus. "Why not?" he demanded aloud, infuriated by the injustice. "My Patronus is _me, _it's _myself, _why won't it do what I want?" It was made of his memory of Lily. He called the memory forth and the silver doe leapt from his wand. Turning, she regarded him with liquid eyes. "Why can't you help me save Lily?"

She cocked her head, and he knew what the posture meant: _Why don't you just ask me?_

It was something Lily herself might say.

He gazed into the silver doe's eyes and put every ounce of will behind his thought: _Dumbledore. I must speak to him._

The doe looked at him a moment longer, then inclined her head. She turned toward the sitting-room window. It flew open, and a strong wind blew the curtains aside. The doe leapt through the window and dashed away, into the blustery autumn sky.

****

Severus waited, shivering. For some reason, he didn't want to close the window, to remove the wind blowing against his face or the sight of the stars. The candles flickered dangerously, but they didn't go out. And presently the phoenix appeared, like a brighter, livelier star, that grew into a silver bird, which flew through the window and landed on the hearthrug.

The phoenix was on fire, yet not consumed. Severus shrank away from the flames. Dumbledore's voice came from the centre of his burning Patronus:

_"Find me on Hog's Hill."_

In an explosion of fire that reached to the ceiling of Severus's flat, the phoenix disappeared.

Severus hadn't had time to answer, but the instruction seemed clear enough. Hog's Hill was the closest of the many rugged, wind-beaten hills that surrounded the village of Hogsmeade. Severus picked up his train schedule, put on his travelling cloak and headed for King's Cross station.

****

No one followed Severus to the train station as far as he knew, and no one stepped behind him through the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. He rode alone in his compartment on the thinly-passengered Hogwarts Express. But if the truth were known, he was probably past caring whether spies tracked his movements. His mind was filled with saving Lily's life.

****

He did take the trouble to skirt the lane that led to the Hog's Head as he walked through the dark streets of Hogsmeade. He left the high street at Puddifoot Lane and made a beeline across a meadow towards Hog's Hill. No one else was out. He heard nothing but the crackling of frostbitten grass beneath his feet and the moaning of the wind.

Presently the hill loomed before him, black against the star-studded sky. Severus drew his wand as the path sloped beneath his feet. No help was nearby if he encountered dangerous strays from the forest.

He reached the top of Hog's Hill. Here on the unprotected hilltop the wind rose to a howl, and the trees it battered groaned in protest. It blew into Severus's face, lifting his hair from his collar and blowing it straight back. Wand raised, he turned slowly in a circle, surveying the landscape. There was no one and nothing to be seen but branches stripped of their leaves, swaying in the fierce wind.

He felt naked, exposed. Fear--never far from him at the best of times these days--began to infiltrate his mind. Had he been lured into a trap? If Dumbledore had ever had reason to love him, he surely didn't now. He might feel uniquely betrayed by the pupil whom he had personally tutored in Patronus-conjuring, whom he had protected from the consequences of casting a deadly Sectumsempra on his favourite, James Potter--the valued Order member who had gone on to thrice defy Voldemort.

He was here alone, at midnight, at Dumbledore's behest. No one knew where he had gone. As preoccupied as he was, he'd tried to make sure of that. No one would know what happened to him. No one but Dumbledore.

The Aurors, those paragons who fought Dark wizards, now shot to kill. No one objected. Most cheered them on. _It's the times,_ everyone said.

_A wizard who can kill_, Voldemort had said, and lightning rent the air; a spell cast from a strong wizard's mind yanked Severus's wand from his hand and threw him to his knees.

It was Dumbledore, robes billowing, white beard flying in the wind, looking like an avenging angel. He gripped two wands, and Severus's hands were empty

"Don't kill me!" Severus cried.

"That was not my intention."

Severus scrambled to his feet and stared into Dumbledore's face, lit eerily from below by his wand.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"No--no message--I'm here on my own account!"

On his own account, the enemy, at that moment, of the two most powerful wizards in the world. _Alone, friendless! _the wind seemed to moan at him, and terror flooded him anew. He clenched his hands into a knotted grip. "I--I come with a warning--no, a request--please--"

Dumbledore silenced the keening wind. "What request could a Death Eater make of me?"

"The--the prophecy... the prediction... Trelawney..."

"Ah, yes." Severus could hear the anger rising beneath Dumbledore's smooth contempt. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"Everything--everything I heard!" Fear took his breath. "That is why--it is for that reason--he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," said Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July--"

"You know what I mean!" Severus cried. "He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down--kill them all--"

"If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have--I have asked him--"

"You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and too late Severus saw the trap. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Had he fallen into the trap, or stepped willingly? For it was true. _I want her to live, that's all. I want her to live._

"Hide them all, then," he said, raw-throated, to Dumbledore's implacable face. "Keep her--them--safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In--in return?" Severus's mouth dropped open. He could bargain with Lily's life? And what payment would he ask? _I don't care. _"Anything."

"Anything," Dumbledore repeated. He gazed at Severus over his glasses. Then his face relaxed and his shoulders sagged slightly. "Very well, then. Let's go." He gave back Severus's wand and with a flick of his own returned to the wind its roar. Stumbling in relief as much as weariness, Severus followed Dumbledore down Hog's Hill toward Hogwarts Castle.

****

An hour later, seated in Dumbledore's office, Severus was still shivering. Dumbledore watched him for a moment. Then he turned to a cabinet, removed a bottle and glass, poured out two fingers of firewhisky and set the glass on the table in front of Severus.

"There. Drink. And congratulate yourself on lying successfully to me."

Severus drank in silence and waited for the liquor to warm him.

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?"

Severus shrugged and drank some more.

"The prophecy. When you told me you hadn't heard it, I believed you. Aberforth called me a fool."

The whisky's heat spread through Severus's body, and he looked up. But his mind was so full of the hope that he'd saved Lily that he didn't understand Dumbledore.

"At the Hog's Head," Dumbledore said gently. "Outside Miss Trelawney's door."

"You knew I lied," said Severus. "You sent your Patronus." He glanced nervously into the corner where the true phoenix slept on its perch, its head nestled under a wing.

"Not until later. I came to agree with Aberforth that your story sounded a little far-fetched. But I didn't see your lie until I examined my memories in the Pensieve. So, as I said, congratulations. It's been a _very_ long time since someone successfully lied to me."

Severus looked away. "Thank you" didn't seem the right thing to say.

"Who taught you Occlumency?" asked Dumbledore.

"The Dark Lord."

"Ah, yes." Severus looked up to see Dumbledore's eyes straying to his left arm. "You...a Death Eater. When I finally realised that, inside the Pensieve, I was surprised. I'm not sure I should have been. Yet your Patronus, when it came to me this evening... it was as strong and beautiful as ever."

"What do you want me to give you for protecting Lily?"

"I've been incredibly stupid, haven't I? She's your Patronus. She's your memory."

"What do you want?"

"Forgive an old man. Sometimes I forget what it's like to be in love." Dumbledore took another glass from the cabinet, poured himself whisky and sat down at his desk, facing Severus. "I want to offer you what you sought from me the last time we met. I have a Professor's position coming open, and I'd like you to take it."

"You do?" Severus said in astonishment. He hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't that.

"Not Defence Against the Dark Arts. I've already filled that position, and besides, I was right to say you weren't suitable, wasn't I?"

A Professor at Hogwarts. Severus was stupefied by the absurdity of it. He'd be doing exactly what Voldemort wanted. "Which, then?"

"Potions. Horace Slughorn has suddenly decided he wants to retire at the end of the autumn term. He says it's because he's getting on in years, but that's nonsense; he's much younger than I am. I think he simply doesn't want to be associated with me any more, for which, given the times and his House, I can hardly blame him. At any rate, he won't hear of staying till the end of the year, so I'll need you to start after Christmas, which means you'd better give notice at St Mungo's--"

"In return for protecting Lily Evans, you want me to become Professor of Potions?"

"Lily _Potter_," said Dumbledore. "And that isn't all I want."

Of course not. "What do you want?" Severus repeated for the third time.

"I want you to do for me what you were going to do for Lord Voldemort."

As what he meant sank in, Severus hardly heard what he said next.

"...Lord Voldemort will find it even more believable, I think, that you could be Potions Master than Defence Against the Dark Arts Master, as you've been an Apothecary at St Mungo's. Although I realise he sent you to apply for Defence Against the Dark Arts because that was my only opening last spring."

"You want me to spy on the Dark Lord," Severus finally managed to say.

"I am inviting you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

"I don't see how that is even possible."

"You don't?" asked Dumbledore. "Why not?"

"He's a Legilimens."

"Ah, I see what you mean. So he is. And he doesn't try to cultivate the same good manners I pride myself on using in the practice of Legilimency. But you, on the other hand, are an Occlumens, and a superb one at that."

"Not superb enough to hide anything from the Dark Lord."

"But you--"

"You're sending me to my death. Is that how you'll make me pay for Lily's protection?"

"If you'll let me finish, I'll tell you that you have already hidden something from Voldemort. If he knew that you loved--not merely desired, but _loved_ Lily Potter, we wouldn't be sitting here together drinking Ogden's. You'd be dead."

Severus stared at him. And he remembered the invisibility cloak which, by the nudgings of his deepest instinct, had rolled itself over his mind in the Dark Lord's presence.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Why, that's very clever. Not a fortified wall or a sword with which to fight. A cloak, as fine and strong as silk, that gives way when you probe it without giving a way through. The Legilimens _thinks_ he's seen all--when he _hasn't."_

"What makes you think I won't use my mental mantle to hide things from you--again?"

"'Mental mantle,'" said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "That's the perfect name for the magic. Like Sectumsempra. Like Textum." He had smiled faintly for a moment, but now he looked serious, even sad. "I know you. He doesn't. I know that the woman you love is in every way his opposite. I was there when with your love you conjured your first Patronus. I trust you, Severus Snape."

Severus shivered to hear Dumbledore speak his full name.

"And I can't protect Lily or her family without your help."

"Do you really think he confides his secrets to me?"

"He'll parcel a few of them out to you, if he hasn't yet. Aren't you a member of his Inner Circle, after carrying the prophecy to him?"

"Yes. I am."

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't be too proud of it. Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle is not the safest place to be. Although I think you'll do well enough. You have your Occlumency. And then, given what he'll consider to be your weakness for Lily Potter, Voldemort will want to play with you. If he finds the Potters and is ready to strike, he may well let you know."

_Really, this could be amusing. _Yes, the Dark Lord might well do that.

"If not," continued Dumbledore, "you might hear information that would help me protect the Order of which Lily's a member. The Order which will save her by bringing down Voldemort." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. On the wall above his head, the Sword of Gryffindor hung in its glass case. "Yes, this could work out very well. When Voldemort finds out I have hired you, he will think he has placed you next to my heart. And thus he will draw you closer to his."

Yes. It could work. The thought was a heady one, in spite of Severus's fear, as if he walked a tightrope above a chasm whose bottom he couldn't see. As if Lily watched him adoringly from the other side, doing something Potter could never do.

Except that she would never know. If he was to keep his cover, protect her properly, she must never know.

"No, indeed, I couldn't have a more valuable spy," said Dumbledore. "Right next to Voldemort's heart. Helping me to protect Lily Evans. And her child, our hope against the Dark Lord."

"Anything. I'll do anything to protect Lily Evans."

"Yes, you will." Dumbledore looked at him in silence for a moment. "We'll do that anything together, you and I. We'll protect Lily Evans."

****

The very next day, Severus received by owl his formal appointment to Hogwarts. So it would begin, he thought, sending Darius off to the Dark Lord with the news. That evening he received a summons by the Dark Mark and Flooed to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

"Excellent, Severus, excellent!" said Voldemort as soon as Severus had brushed the ashes off his robes. He seemed electrified. "What made the old man change his mind?"

The mental mantle was in place. "Horace Slughorn is retiring. And Dumbledore had left my application on file."

"Slughorn? Is that it? Well! I did invite him to join us, letting him know that I didn't like the company he was keeping. He turned down my invitation, but I'm glad he followed my advice."

Severus couldn't help but wonder whether Slughorn had made the right move by separating himself from Dumbledore.

"So, Potions. Well, that may be better suited to you than Defence Against the Dark Arts, given your experience at St Mungo's. You're in. That's what matters."

The Lord had an air of exultation about him, as if the infiltration into Hogwarts were a great victory, one he had never hoped to see before Severus had come along.

"How did you manage it?" asked Voldemort.

"I didn't. That is, I only went to the one interview. He seemed to feel as you do, my lord, that I'm better suited to Potions than Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"And you're sure he doesn't know you heard the prophecy?"

"He gave not the slightest indication that there was anything amiss."

"That is not the same thing where Dumbledore is concerned." Severus could feel the Lord searching his mind, but the mental mantle kept its place. "Still, he'd hardly take you on, would he, if he thought there was anything wrong?"

Severus had never seen the Dark Lord like this: his eyes were shining, his tone eager, he paced around the room, robes flying behind him, as if he could hardly contain himself. How long had he wanted a spy next to Dumbledore? And now he had one.

Voldemort stopped suddenly. "You wanted Lily Evans."

"Why, er--yes, my lord."

The Lord curled one long hand into a fist. "You shall have her," he said, thumping his fist into his other open palm in time with his words. Then he dropped both hands to his sides and grinned. Severus had never seen so many of his teeth. "That is, if she has the good sense to save herself."

By that, Severus knew he had been right to go to Albus Dumbledore. Before, Voldemort had had no intention of sparing Lily. Now that Severus had earned some few points of favour with the Potions position at Hogwarts, Voldemort had decided he might give her a few moments' head start before chasing her down and killing her.


	40. Death and the Death Eater

**Death and the Death Eater**

Autumn 1980-Autumn 1981

The most important part, Severus soon learned, was to keep from getting confused. Dumbledore sent him to Voldemort, who wasn't to know he was the Headmaster's spy. Voldemort sent him to Dumbledore, who wasn't to know he was the Dark Lord's spy. Only one of them was right, and it was up to Severus to keep track.

One thing came as a surprise and a relief too: he vaulted upward in the Dark Lord's esteem. For one thing, Voldemort dismissed Bellatrix's complaints that Severus wasn't pulling his weight.

"Pay her no mind, Severus," said the Dark Lord. "She tortures and kills for me and thus believes that is the highest, indeed the only calling my service requires. Her vision is too narrow to see that different tools have different uses. That is one reason why she is a follower in this movement, not its leader."

That was a burden lifted from Severus's shoulders, for Dumbledore had made it very clear that he wasn't to kill.

"You shouldn't do any Unforgivable Cursing, but I suppose you can't escape it all. However, I absolutely forbid you to kill. That would damage your soul beyond reclamation, and I think we can agree you don't need that."

No one could have agreed more than Severus did. "The Dark Lord's right, then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"He doesn't want me to kill, either, because he said you'd see it in my soul."

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "I see Tom hasn't forgotten my preferences."

"Tom?"

"Voldemort's name, before he began putting on airs. I've always wondered whether he didn't realise taking an overblown alias like Voldemort was a thuggish thing to do, or whether that was exactly his intention: to be a thug."

"I think he wants more than that now."

"He thinks it's more."

Severus returned to the topic. "So the Dark Lord doesn't want me to go on missions with the other Death Eaters. But I'm afraid that may rouse suspicion," he added somewhat reluctantly.

Dumbledore frowned. "How?"

"Some Death Eaters think that the Dark Lord's pampering me. That I'm not doing my share of the work."

"Any Death Eaters in particular?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Severus said promptly. "And others, perhaps. She's never afraid to speak up, as if she's always had influence with the Dark Lord."

"Before you came along," said Dumbledore musingly. "And I doubt she's lost her influence with the others. She was always a leader in Slytherin House, although I never could see my way to making her a prefect." Dumbledore sat silent for a few moments, thinking. "Perhaps she's right, Severus. Perhaps you're not pulling your weight."

"I'd have to do what Bellatrix does, sir, to make her happy."

"I don't want that," Dumbledore said. "But perhaps you could accompany Bellatrix while she does what she does. Without getting your own hands dirty. Bellatrix or the others. Just to prove you're one of the lads. To keep suspicion tamped down."

"You mean join in," said Severus.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I trust you to be able to manage that without going too far. I trust you."

Thus Severus joined the hunt for James and Lily Potter and their son.

He didn't know where they were hiding. Dumbledore, out of a healthy respect for Voldemort's power of Legilimency--or his powers of torture--hadn't told him.

Dolohov, an old hand, was heading up the mission to find the Potters. It was his idea to kidnap Petunia Dursley (Dursley, for she'd married some lump of a Muggle) and hold her hostage in an attempt to flush Lily out of hiding. But Severus forestalled him by warning Dumbledore, who advised the Dursleys to take a long trip abroad.

"How did they manage that?" Lucius said enviously, when Dolohov reported to a meeting of the Inner Circle that the Dursleys had disappeared somewhere on the Continent. "Their son's no older than mine!"

"What gave them the idea in the first place?" Voldemort asked softly, "when indeed their child is so very young?"

"I don't know," said Dolohov angrily. He'd looked forward to being the hostage-taker, to having prisoners of his own. "They made their reservations three months ago!"

"That's before we even though of using them for bait." Rosier said what Severus had carefully avoided saying, as he expected Dumbledore had been the one to get the reservations back-dated. The Imperius Curse, used on some clerk or other? It would have been Severus's first thought, but surely not Dumbledore's.

"But not before we heard of the prophecy," said Voldemort. "Can they know? Have they gone into hiding too? The time and manpower we must waste, hunting them down!"

"Should we bother, my lord?" said Severus. "I don't recall that Lily Evans ever cared much for her sister."

That earned him a few sharp looks from the Death Eaters, and a particularly malevolent one from Bellatrix. It was also not entirely true. But the mental mantle was in place, as was the Lord's disdain for Muggle relations. "Of course not. Friends, then. Wizarding friends. We know Potter's; his family are friends with every blood traitor in Britain. Lily's?"

Voldemort looked at Severus. There was nothing for it but to hand over a few names. It didn't matter. It wasn't as though he cared for these people. _They've chosen their way, I've chosen mine._ "Alice Longbottom, Circe Clearwater. But her best friend, in school, anyway, was Mary Macdonald."

"Find her," said Voldemort. "Bella. I'm sure she'll tell _you_ where the Potters have gone."

"She will. But I'll want help, my lord. I can't do it alone."

"Of course."

"Rodolphus. And Snape."

Voldemort gave her a speculative look. Then "Why not?" he said, and smiling slowly they turned toward Severus, giving him the feeling that this had already been discussed. "Help her, Severus. Avoid killing--if you can. But do whatever needs to be done."

Occlumency gave distance, so that he could seem even to himself to be calm. "You're no longer worried about Dumbledore, my lord."

"I am never not worried about Dumbledore. But we're coming very close to the cusp of things. Once I kill this boy, I shall no longer need to worry about Dumbledore. And so it is very important to find him and the parents who are hiding him. So important that I've decided Bella is right--you should do some of the dirty work too."

As if lying and spying were clean.

"You'll be able to hide it from Dumbledore, don't worry. Your Occlumency's strong enough; you'd be in Azkaban by now if it weren't. It's not killing, after all." Bellatrix looked disappointed, and Voldemort laughed. "Or it shouldn't be, if Bella can control herself. A spot of Obliviation after the interrogation's over, that's all."

Severus had never liked Mary Macdonald, but he could pity her as she lay quivering, spent with sobbing after Bellatrix had lowered her wand.

"Why don't you just tell her?" he asked. The potion-induced hum disguised the tone of his voice. He had to work to disguise its weariness.

Face-down, she whispered into the hearthrug: "Please don't make me."

"Please don't make me!" mocked Bellatrix. "Or rather, do." She raised her wand, and Mary Macdonald screamed.

She made it harder on herself to betray Lily than Severus had done, but betray her, finally, she did.

"Littleton Road...." Mary's voice trailed off. She looked as though she'd lost her train of thought.

Bellatrix stuck her wand into Mary's face, inches from her nose. Mary moaned with terror.

"Littleton Road _where?" _said Bellatrix, her eyes lit with lust. Was it a lust Rodolphus would recognise? He didn't look at it now. He'd volunteered to stand guard and did so now, his back turned to them, staring resolutely out the front window, leaving Severus alone to observe his wife's passion.

Bellatrix's hand tightened on her wand. "Ottery--Ottery St Catchpole!" Mary blubbered in panic. She cowered to the rug again, weeping, shielding her head with her forearms.

Severus looked down at her shaking body. His face felt stiff, like a mask beneath his Death Eater's mask. _Littleton Road, Ottery St Catchpole._ He committed the address to memory.

"Well?" he said to Bellatrix. "Hadn't we better leave before someone notices--?"

A series of pops sounded just outside the window, like exploding firecrackers. "Someone's Apparating!" cried Rodolphus. "Moody, Black, Podmore!"

The curse leapt from Bellatrix's wand and bathed Mary Macdonald in green light. Her trembling body went still.

Severus threw himself back, avoiding the edges of the Killing Curse. "Let's get out of here!"

The door burst open and the Order members poured in, a wild-haired, infuriated-looking Black at their head.

_Damn_ it, Severus couldn't Disapparate now, for he couldn't come back, he'd have to go straight to the Dark Lord. Besides, had Bellatrix even taken down the anti-Apparition wards?

He had to get outside. So, wand up, he rushed Black.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ shouted Black, but the Stunner had already left Severus's wand, and his wand did not follow his spell toward Black.

Black shielded himself, and, "Help him!" shrieked Bellatrix. "Kill them, Rodolphus!"

"Rodolphus, is it?" roared Moody. Behind him Severus heard a sickening thud: the sound of Bellatrix kicking Mary's corpse aside.

Moody shot an Impediment Jinx at Rodolphus and their duel was on. Bellatrix, shrieking with laughter, fought Black, who clearly identified his cousin's voice beneath the potion-cover: "Here, do a dance for me, Bella!" he cried, casting a Tarantallegra which she easily dodged. Podmore stared white-faced at Mary Macdonald's sprawled body. Severus swept him aside with a dose of Firewhip. "Ahhh, it burns!" he yelled as Severus raced past him and through the open door.

He ran round to the back garden. Skidding to a stop, he closed his eyes and raised his wand. When he opened his eyes, his Patronus stood before him, her head slightly aslant, regarding him with her beautiful black eyes.

_"Littleton Road, Ottery St Catchpole,"_ whispered Severus, all his will and desire fixed on the silver doe. "Tell Dumbledore. The Potters. Voldemort knows where they are. _Go!"_

The doe blinked once. Then she turned, sprang into the air and bounded off into the star-scattered night.

Severus ran round to the front of the cottage. The door was still open. Podmore lay face-down across the threshold. The others duelled, on the steps and the garden path, in light spilling through the doorway. Black, his face manic, had taken on Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Moody ran down the steps, the body of Mary Macdonald in his arms, his wand extending from one clenched fist. A Stunning Spell leapt from its tip and headed for Bellatrix.

_"Stupefy!" _muttered Severus, and his own Stunner arrowed toward Moody's magic, intercepting it. The two spells collided and cancelled each other out, both disintegrating in a puff of smoke.

"C'mon, Alastor," panted Black, still deflecting Bellatrix's furious volley of spells. Flicking his wand back and forth, blocking curse after curse, he bent down and seized the unconscious Podmore's arm. Then Black and Moody, with their human burdens, Disapparated.

After they were gone, Bellatrix whirled on Severus. "Where _were_ you?"

Severus shrugged. "Outside. Making sure there were no more Order members following the ones our mission leader didn't know were coming. Then, stopping Moody from Stunning you."

"You should have Stunned him, if you were too cowardly to kill him!"

"That wouldn't have stopped his spell from striking you. Oh, and you're welcome."

"Enough, you two!" snapped Rodolphus. "We need to report to the Dark Lord before the Order moves the Potters. The Lord will not be happy if Harry Potter escapes him again."

"You'll be delighted, as I was, to hear that James, Lily and Harry are safe," Dumbledore said later. "Your prompt action saved them. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," said Severus.

"Nevertheless I do."

You don't need to, Severus would have repeated, if he'd thought it would do any good. The Potters did. But they couldn't, so it didn't matter. What mattered was whether letting Bellatrix do Unforgivable things to Mary Macdonald was as bad as doing them himself. How badly had he damaged his soul? He was about to ask Dumbledore when Dumbledore said:

"There's nothing for it but the Fidelius Charm. Lily can cast it if James can't. It will be like putting them in prison, but what else can I do?"

Dumbledore's mind had obviously wandered far past Severus's concerns. So Severus did not bring them up.

Hogwarts might have been safe, but that was all. Severus hated his job. He hated children and he hated teaching them.

They were all thicker and all cheekier than they'd been when he was in school. Four years_._ Was that so very long ago, that kids could have changed that much? Take Wycliffe and Hansen, whom he was meeting for detention this afternoon for purposefully botching a potion. They'd have given Potter and Black a run for their money and not only because they were Gryffindors. They had the Potterian arrogance and disregard for rules and had doubtless been up in Gryffindor Tower (or even out in the grounds: Severus had his suspicions and wouldn't give them up, let McGonagall and Dumbledore dismiss them as they might), carrying on with Halloween celebrations long after curfew. Well, they wouldn't be napping in the dormitory after lessons today.

As Dumbledore's only Slytherin teacher (was _that_ an accident, he couldn't help but wonder), Severus was Head of House and took full advantage of the amenities that the position used Slughorn's old apartment, which was attached to Slughorn's old office (now happily devoid of the rococo cabinet with the fluttering cherubs on top) and maintained Slughorn's owl-delivered subscription to the _Daily Prophet. _He hadn't stayed up late celebrating Halloween--he'd never done that--so he entered his office, cup of coffee in hand, at his usual hour of eight o'clock. There lay the _Prophet_, as usual, on top of his desk. Above the fold, he could see as he closed the door of his apartment, was the increasingly common picture of a house in ruins.

Another Death Eater attack. A familiar queasiness rose in Severus's stomach, which, out of long habit, he instantly quelled. He drew closer to his desk and saw the headline even before he snatched up the newspaper:

_**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Disappears, Presumed Dead after Attack in Godric's Hollow**_

_GODRIC'S HOLLOW--Summoned by an anonymous tip, Aurors arrived at Number 15, Bagshot Lane in Godric's Hollow to find a scene all too familiar these days--a house destroyed and a young couple dead. A neighbour, retired scholar and author Miss Bathilda Bagshot, identified the couple as James and Lily Potter, saying that they had taken up residence at Number 15 in early summer._

_Mystery surrounds Mr and Mrs Potter's life and the manner of their death. "I didn't know there was a Number 15, Bagshot Lane," says Mr Gerard Marvell, a resident, one street over, of Number Nine, Rose Way, suggesting that the Potters saw a need to use warding magic to disguise their location. Miss Bagshot had nothing to say about that, insisting only that not only was there a Number 15 where the Potters lived, they also had a one-year-old son named Harry. But although a baby's layette was found among the wreckage, the Aurors say they saw no other trace of a child, living or dead._

_Miss Baghot also states that "a wizard alighted from the air" into the lane and entered the Potters' cottage around midnight on Halloween. When asked if she meant the wizard Apparated, Miss Bagshot replied, "No. He flew." On a broom? "No."_

_When reminded that only one wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, has acquired the skill of broomless flight, Miss Bagshot retorted, "I know that, you young twit. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came to the Potters' house last night to kill their son. And now he and the boy have disappeared."_

_No Dark Mark floated over Number 15, casting doubt on Miss Bagshot's claim. Yet rumours issuing from Azkaban Prison may support it. Anonymous sources there claim that the Dark Marks on imprisoned Death Eaters' arms have faded to near invisibility.... _

The newspaper slipped from Severus's hand, fluttering in sheets to the floor. Slowly he rolled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark on his forearm, usually a gleaming black brand even when quiescent, had faded to the thin pale lines of an old scar. To near invisibility.

_House destroyed...young couple dead.... _Severus's mind went blank. He threw up a wall, nothing like his Occlumency, past which he admitted nothing. But it was too late. Drawing up the bridge only trapped the information inside, imprisoning it like so many Death Eaters in Azkaban.

_The manner of their death.... _Severus opened his office door and entered a dungeon corridor full of the beating of owls' wings and the murmuring of Slytherin students. The owls held letters grasped in their talons and the students were apprehensive.

"You-Know-Who...gone...they say he's dead, Professor Snape..."

"Professor Snape, what will happen to us now?"

Owls' wings brushed his head; the wind of their flight blew into his face. Students jostled around him. A couple even tried to grasp at his sleeve. He shook them off.

The news was spreading. That was the only information he allowed past the wall.

The owls continued their frantic flight, but the students, looking at Severus's face, fell back.

Severus found the stairs, climbed them, threw open the door to the entrance hall. He entered the hall and blinked in the brilliant morning light. Letter-carrying owls still whirred above him in flight, but here the students didn't murmur.

"You-Know-Who gone...dead! Hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Hip, hip, hurrah!" yelled a voice louder than the rest. Isaak Hansen, at the head of a knot of Gryffindors; Hansen, who was due for detention this afternoon. Tall, golden-haired, he put one in mind of Olaus Ruskin. Beside him was his best friend Moira Wycliffe, also sentenced to detention, red-haired like--

_Gone...dead..._

"Voldemort's dead!" shouted Hansen. "Yes, _Voldemort!"_ he cried to scattered gasps. "I'll call him by his real name, like Dumbledore, why not...?"

Dumbledore. Yes, that was right. That was where Severus was going.

He climbed the stairs to the seventh floor, compensating by instinct for each vanishing step, remembering without thought where each staircase would lead on a Sunday morning. Hogwarts was in his blood, laid down in his nerves; it was his real home, after all, as he'd told himself since the day he'd learned he was a wizard and would go to a wizarding school far from Spinner's End. On the seventh floor, his steps took him to the corridor with the stone gargoyle at its end.

What was the password? He'd forgotten. "Dumbledore," he whispered, at a loss for any other word. The gargoyle leapt aside and the wall opened. Severus stepped on to the spiral staircase and let it carry him to the Headmaster's office door. He knocked, and the door opened. He went inside.

Dumbledore was there, standing with his back to Severus, gazing out the window. Outside, Severus could see fountains of magical stars shooting up from the lawns. "It's not a school day, fortunately," said Dumbledore. "We can give free rein to our celebrations."

Severus couldn't speak.

Dumbledore turned. His face was calmer than Severus had seen it in a long time, but his eyes were red. "Severus," he said wearily.

Severus grasped after words. "The _Prophet--"_ he choked.

"I know. Harry lives, if it interests you."

Severus began to tremble.

"Lily saved him. The evidence is clear that she was the last to die. It's also clear that your Dark Lord kept his promise. He offered Lily her life in return for the life of her son. She declined."

"How--how do you know?" gasped Severus.

"Because Harry lives. He bears a scar on his forehead that proves Voldemort struck him with a Killing Curse, but he did not die. Lily's sacrifice--the shedding of her own blood, when she could have stepped aside to let Voldemort murder Harry unhindered--saved him."

The shedding of her own blood, Lily's blood.... _Why?_ The _Prophet _had said the house must have been warded; why had the wards failed? Why hadn't Dumbledore protected her? He'd promised; if Severus would give himself to him, and Severus _had_ given himself, he'd promised to protect her.

He hadn't kept his promise_. _She was dead._ Gone...dead.... _Severus clutched his head in his hands and howled.

"Sit down, Severus," said Dumbledore.

Tears soaked Severus's cheeks. He bowed his head, gripping his hair so hard that his scalp hurt.

"Severus. Sit down."

Dumbledore spoke more firmly, and the words penetrated. Severus stumbled forward, groping blindly. He found a chair, sank into it and, slumping over his lap, covered his face with his hands. His sobs tore the air, until he could find no more breath for them. Panting, he looked up. Dumbledore had moved closer to him, and he looked pitiless, but that was the least of Severus's worries.

"I thought...you were going...to keep her...safe..." he got out.

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

No. He wouldn't be here now if he'd ever really indulged that pretence. He'd told himself a different lie: that he hadn't known whom the prophecy meant.

_"He knows the members of the Order. And he will kill them. __Every __one__." _Ruskin, driving Potter mad with terror and fury. _"We've got to fight them and carry on fighting them until we stop them...." _Lily, just before she'd told Severus she was pregnant. With the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.

_"James wasn't home, and I surprised a couple of thieves trying to break in. They're on their way to Azkaban now, and when they get there, they'll __still__ look worse than I do." _Lily, on crutches, her leg twisted with a Bone-cracker Curse. Lying through her teeth, though no one around her, not her current Trainee Healer friends nor her former friend Severus admitted to knowing it.

But he had known it. He had known that if anyone could defy the Dark Lord thrice and live, it would be Lily Evans Potter.

"--_not without cracking her bones to remember me by. But yes, I let her escape._"

And Severus had known on the second of August that she had delivered a baby at the end of July. As the seventh month had died.

_"It's a boy, born the thirty-first...." _

He had known that, thanks to the ever-helpful Harding. And he had gone on to betray her.

_"...thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends?"_

Not any longer.

_"You've chosen your way. I've chosen mine."_

Severus's breathing was shallow. He couldn't breathe deep; there didn't seem to be enough air in the room.

"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore.

Severus sloughed that off with a jerk of the head. Who cared, really, given the price?

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes." How so weary a man could be so relentless, Severus did not know. Then Dumbledore gave the knife a surgical twist. "You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"

Severus found breath. "DON'T! Gone...dead..."

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

Remorse? It had been remorse long before this, and even then it had come too late. "I wish...I wish _I _were dead...."

"And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

Slowly Severus looked up. Dumbledore's eyes were still red, but the lines in his face were like fissures etched in stone. "What--what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone--"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

There was fear in Dumbledore's eyes despite his stony face, fear, guilt and buried secrets. Had he revealed himself willingly or had Severus caught him off guard? Or did Severus see, reflected in blue, red-rimmed eyes, what was in his own heart?

He stared, wondering, and found almost as an aside that his breathing slowed and his head grew somewhat clearer.

"Very well. Very well. But never--never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us!" The old hatred spewed up in him with the new grief. _If Lily hadn't married him, she'd still be alive! _"Swear it! I cannot bear...especially Potter's son...I want your word!"

The aggression seemed to wilt Dumbledore slightly. "My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" He sighed. "If you insist."

"I insist." Severus rose, facing Dumbledore, taking advantage while he could. "I will do what you ask. But I will not be put on display as your tame Death Eater."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up. "Very well. If that's how you see it."

"I do."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Well, then. As for Lily and James's funeral--"

It was unbearable. "Send me the details tomorrow," said Severus, spinning around and heading for the door.

"That's what I meant to tell you I'd do," said Dumbledore. "As I shan't be available until tomorrow."

If he had anything more to say, Severus, closing the door behind him, didn't hear it.


	41. Living the Lie

**Living the Lie**

The Hogwarts school year, 1976-1977

It kept Severus company all summer, that memory of Lily taking Dilsey's hand and, in the midst of the bustle of Acute Spell Damage, disappearing into another world. That world belonged to Healer Meed, and the only person dwelling in it last June had been James Potter.

The swelled-headed, stuck-on-himself, arrogant toerag, James Potter. Lily's words, not Severus's. Had she changed her opinion? Or had she lied all along?

Tobias treated him better. Severus never would have credited it, but the Muggle seemed to have developed a certain sensitivity, as if he knew somehow that Severus had come as close to murder as anyone could without killing. He gave Severus a wide and silent berth when they were at home together and even put in a grudging word at the local pub when Severus applied there for a summer job as a bartender. Severus wasn't surprised, however, when Tobias found another watering-hole after he got the job.

He didn't like tending to customer after customer who in their braying laughter and loud demands reminded him of Tobias. But at least it kept him from any chance of seeing Lily. The place he worked in, like the part of town he lived in, was nowhere she would ever be found.

And so he didn't see her again until he returned for his final year at Hogwarts.

She was always there, in all his N.E.W.T.s classes--Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Magical Theory--and always hanging about there, in front of his face, with Potter.

At first Severus angrily thought it was because Potter had broken his oath and told Lily what had really happened. But when absolutely no word got around about the Sectumsempra at the Whomping Willow, he realised that couldn't be so. Once such a sensational story got out, it would have spread like wildfire.

The story that did spread was the one Dumbledore had told Potter to tell. Indeed, Severus heard Potter himself expounding it.

"Yeah, I practically got killed!" he said with undisguised relish. "It was a nice warm spring night; who wouldn't want to go out into the Forbidden Forest? If he knew how to get away with it, that is."

In general, the audience surrounding him gawked in wonder at his words. But Lily was in one of those crowds once, unbeknownst to Potter until she retorted, "Well, knowing what's in there, _I_ wouldn't be so stupid."

Potter jerked his head around to look at her, and his face went serious. "Yeah--yeah, it was stupid. I should have known something would happen."

_Indeed you should_, thought Severus, who was also listening.

"A manticore stung me," said Potter. "I was paralysed. If Dumbledore hadn't found me and got me to St Mungo's, I'd be dead."

An undercurrent of fear ran beneath the annoyance in Lily's eyes. (Severus knew those eyes and their expressions very well.) "So you weren't as clever as you thought," she said. "Dumbledore found you out."

Potter reddened beneath her irritated look. "I wasn't too clever at all, really. I'm lucky to be alive."

Lily tried to keep her face stern, but Severus saw her soften. He knew what that looked like. He turned to leave before he saw more and caught Black's eye.

"Eh, Snivelly?"

Severus instinctively went for his wand and Black pulled his.

"Sirius!" said Potter sharply.

"Yes, James?" Black grinned. He and Severus pointed their wands at each other.

"Shut it _down," _said Potter.

Black, watching Severus, didn't respond.

"You've got some nerve, Black," said Lily with a short laugh. "With the Head Boy _and_ the Head Girl here. How many days of detention do you want?"

"Oh, all right," said Black, shrugging. He tossed his wand in the air and with a jut of his hip caught it in his robe pocket.

Nobody asked Severus why he had been absent at the end of spring term the year before--certainly not Lily. Paying him no heed at all, she began chatting with Potter about a Charms assignment they were working on together. Black made a rude gesture at Severus, then ran to catch them up.

Severus filed away Black's insult, to be dealt with another day when he could catch Black alone. Then he made his way toward the Slytherin dungeon. He had his own homework to do.

Severus hadn't volunteered his story to anyone, not even the Slytherins, much less to the sundry adoring audiences and hangers-on that Potter regaled at every turn with the lie that Dumbledore had given him to tell. But his house mates gave him curious looks from the first day of autumn term, and it wasn't long before someone pressed him.

That someone was Evan Rosier. "Where were you last June, out in the woods with Potter? You made such a to-do over your Potions project, then you weren't even there when Evans turned in your Veritaserum."

"It didn't matter. She turned in my notes too. We both got top marks."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," said Evan, with a touch of admiration. "Slughorn said the assay was purer than most he'd seen from Auror apprentices. So why weren't you there to gloat?"

"My father got sick. He was bad for a while, so I went home to be with my mother."

"Oh," said Evan after a moment, leaving Severus to wonder how much people at Hogwarts knew about Tobias. He'd always said as little as he could about his parents. Even so, one person, Lily, knew more than he liked. Had she ever told anyone else? Did he have to worry, when he told the lie Dumbledore had given him to tell, that people would assume Tobias's illness came from a drunkard's bad liver?

"Is he all right?" asked Evan.

"He's fine."

"Oh," said Evan unrevealingly, doing nothing to lessen Severus's humiliating fear. "Good."

Severus didn't speak to Lily any longer. But, exposed to her in all his classes, he slipped back into longing. He was very good at hiding himself, so when he resumed following her around, no one discovered him.

Sometimes he told himself, well, they were in the same school, they took the same classes, of course they'd often end up in the same places. At other times, he didn't bother.

It was no good thinking about it, no good asking why he tortured himself. Severus couldn't stop following and watching Lily. He saw her at Potter's side ever more frequently as the year dragged on. If he'd hoped that he and Lily could reconcile when they went to St Mungo's for post-Hogwarts training, that hope was dashed when Potter was accepted into the Auror training programme in London.

Too bad he hadn't been the one to catch them out on the grounds after dark. Pringle, the caretaker, had found them instead, sentencing Lily to her very first detention. Predictably, the escapade made them all the more popular, with Lily, blushing and laughing, uncharacteristically at a loss for words as guffawing Gryffindors loudly demanded to know what, precisely, Pringle had caught them doing.

"Nothing, you filthy-minded gits!" said Potter. "Absolutely nothing!" And seeing the look of frustration on Potter's face, Severus was inclined to believe him.

Strangely enough, it was when he wasn't looking for Lily Evans and James Potter that he discovered what they did when they went off alone together. Or at least all he could stand to know.

It was mid-June, near the end of spring term, one year almost to the day since he had cast Sectumsempra on Potter. His acceptance from the St Mungo's Apothecary Apprenticeship Programme was in his pocket along with the offer of a stipend large enough to support him. He was wandering the lawns, his heart brimming with mixed feelings. Soon he would escape. He would travel to London, learn a profession, be his own man. On the other hand, he would leave Hogwarts, his home for the past seven years, a place of joy and sorrow, hatred and the wonder of new things, things he couldn't possibly have dreamt of in his dingy bedroom at home, lying on his bed staring at the cracked ceiling, dreaming of all the things he would do and be when he went to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts had been, he decided, less than he had hoped for but more than he had expected. Then he heard mewling.

He was by the lake, near the large beech tree. The sounds seemed to be coming from the shore side of the tree, which, being opposite, he couldn't see. At first he thought it was a kitten, but when he took a step closer, he heard a gasp punctuate the whimpers. And whimpers they were: human sounds. A child? Or some dangerous illusion, an enchantment to lure the unwary?

Severus drew his wand and tiptoed silently around the tree. He drew closer, recognising the mewling voice just as he saw the fall of dark red hair along the trunk and Potter's face buried in Lily Evans's neck.

Severus backed away carefully, then darted into a nearby copse of fir trees. He closed his eyes. His heart beat painfully against his ribs. The lump that rose in his throat nearly choked him. And yet he couldn't stop himself. Opening his eyes, he peered through the branches at Lily and Potter.

Potter had lifted his head. He didn't have his glasses on, but he didn't look as though he needed them. Gazing intently at Lily, he looked as though he saw everything he wanted. Leaning against the tree trunk, she looked up at him, her collar rumpled, her lips parted, her eyes misted yet bright.

Severus had never seen that look in Lily's eyes before, but he knew what it was. Desire.

Without taking his eyes off Lily's face, Potter explored the rest of her with his hands. Severus felt sick, his knees trembled, but he did not look away from Potter's roaming hands.

_"James," _Lily groaned.

Potter covered her mouth with his own before she could make another sound. He shifted, blocking Severus's sight of Lily with his body. Slender arms, white against the black of Potter's school robe, snaked around his waist. Lily drew Potter close. Severus could see her clutching fingers, the cords in her wrists.

At last Severus looked away. He also had seen all he wanted.

He should have been angry. At any other time he would have been, but at the moment he didn't have the energy. Quietly, he slipped away. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the castle, felt the letter from Melusine Morgan, Apothecary-in-Chief at St Mungo's Hospital and Head of the Apothecary Apprenticeship Programme. He'd be independent. But the stipend wouldn't permit any luxuries. It would be a hardscrabble struggle to get his licence and establish himself in his career, with no one to greet him at the end of his work shift, no one to ask him how his day had gone.

While Potter would become an Auror, with family money to round out his skimpy Auror's salary. He'd have a rich man's comforts and a loved man's pleasures, with a woman he didn't deserve walking beside him into the rest of his life.


	42. September, 1991

**September, 1991**

The time had come at last.

Severus had tried not to think about it. But over the summer holiday, rattling around in the house in Spinner's End whenever he wasn't busy, thoughts had come unbidden, and he hadn't been able to fight them off.

The house was his now. He shared ownership with Mother, but if she came once a year for a day or two, that was the most time she spent in the place she had once called home. Severus didn't spend much more time there. He spent most of the year, including the Christmas holidays, at Hogwarts. It hadn't been easy at first. He disliked teaching, loathed children, and there wasn't a member of the staff who hadn't irritated him at some time or other.

Dumbledore was the most irritating of them all. Yet it was Dumbledore who had spoken up for him at the Wizengamot, Dumbledore who had testified that Severus had been spying for him since before the Dark Lord's fall, Dumbledore who had declared, "I trust Severus Snape." All without saying how he had recruited a former Death Eater, all without saying why he trusted Severus Snape. And year after year he had renewed Severus's appointment as Potions master, protecting him from Ministry "justice" and the vengeance of those Death Eaters still at large.

So he put up with Dumbledore's occasional mild sarcasm and his rather more frequent stupid jokes. Hogwarts was his home now. Where else would he go?

For the first time in ten years, Severus wished he had a good answer to that question. It was the first day of autumn term and James Potter's son was coming to school.

Of course it had already started out as a big production. Dumbledore had felt the need to send Hagrid to deliver the boy his Hogwarts letter and take him into Diagon Alley for his school shopping. The Muggle relations Dumbledore had chosen to dump Potter's son on weren't having any of it, but Severus doubted that Dumbledore had ever given so much assistance to the children of other recalcitrant Muggles.

And now the new first years were filing into the Great Hall for the Sorting.

Severus sat very still in his seat at the high table, between Professor McGonagall's empty place and the ridiculous Quirrell. (He'd heard Quirrell had gone wandering in foreign parts, but he hadn't heard he'd gone native--if wearing foolish purple turbans were what the natives did in Albania.) From that vantage point he saw Potter's son for the first time.

Of course he was Potter's son; he had the same glasses and untidy hair, although he was shorter and thinner than Severus remembered Potter had been, with an air of neglect that Potter had never had. Then he looked up.

_He has her eyes, precisely her eyes._

Severus jerked his own away, fastening them on his plate.

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall cried presently, and whispers flitted about the hall.

_"Potter_, did she say?"

_"The _Harry Potter?"

The boy hadn't been in Hogwarts half an hour, and the adulation had already begun. _You'd better not be in Slytherin._

An unnerving amount of time passed; then to Severus's very great relief the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

He looked up to see the boy racing to the Gryffindor table, into the arms of a gaggle of Weasleys, exactly where he belonged. One had to admit the Hat was always right. Just as it had been right about Lucius's son. His eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table, where Draco was already lording it over the other first years.

Then he bent over Professor McGonagall's seat, toward the ever-twinkling Headmaster. "So you've got him in your House."

Dumbledore did not remove his benevolent gaze from the Sorting Hat's proceedings. "You'd rather he were in yours?"

"You know the answer to that."

The Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall came up to the high table to take her seat. Severus's plate filled with enough food to feed a giant, food for which he had little appetite. It wasn't helped by Quirrell's insistence on striking up a conversation.

"...You--you especially would have been f--fascinated by what I saw...."

Where on earth had he picked up the stutter? And why did his eye twitch?

"I--I r--recommend a European tour, S--severus. An Eastern European t--tour."

What had possessed Dumbledore to keep Quirrell on as Defence Against the Dark Arts master? The man looked as though he'd be better off in an asylum than behind a lectern. "Oh...yes."

Boredom, distaste or the soft brushing against his shoulder, like ghostly wings (or _her eyes, precisely her eyes)_ caused Severus to look away from Quirrell into Harry Potter's eyes.

It was like seeing Lily alive again.

_"Want to go to the playground, Lily?"_

_She does. She smiles, her green eyes alight...._

As if she had been given back to him. But she had not. Her eyes looked out from Potter's face, James Potter's hated face.

The boy clapped his hand against his head, as if he'd hurt himself somehow, but that was all right. Boys recover. Severus had. He turned back to Quirrell, to pick up where he'd left off. He nodded in response to Quirrell's fatuous dronings. They did nothing to interfere with his consideration that for the next seven years he would be reminded every day of how and to whom he had lost Lily. Of how he had betrayed Lily to her death and himself to imprisonment in Dumbledore's comfortable cage.

_"Help me protect Lily's son.... The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."_

Very well. He would protect Lily's son. Looking at Quirrell, listening to him stutter on, Severus embarked on the next seven years of his life.


End file.
